Summer 1949 • Vol. XI No. 3 PoetryJuly 1, 1949 |

To C. T. C.

Genti v'eran con occhi tardi e gravi   di frande autorià ne'lor sembianti;   avan rado, con voci soavi. From the borders of the swamp I sang, Philosophic family, Sicilian muse, From the tamarisk, the palest thornbush, Engendered in the brake a lowly piping. All day the summer stopped without access, Philosophic family, Sicilian muse, All day the sunset, rimmed in yellow, Drew our eyesight through the paling air. No flame flickers in the golden brush, Philosophic family, Sicilian muse, Except horizons yellowing the sky, And birdless stands the tufted swamp. Let these bushes be of consular rank, Philosophic family, Sicilian muse. May their smoke infuse the swamp mirage Where birds nor flame cannot exhibit. Site, O Celia, of our diverse intents, Which tumed away, which rose, which flickered, But fell no more, and stayed austere As the rigidity of motion in an arrow's flight As the stiff pale foliage of the yellowing brush, Reaching the crux of deference

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Quatrina

By Joseph Bennett

Genti v'eran con occhi tardi e gravi   di frande autorià ne'lor sembianti;   avan rado, con voci soavi. From the borders of the swamp I sang, Philosophic family, Sicilian muse, From […]

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