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Gypsies on the Road (français, italiano)
| The dark-eyed ancient tribe that never rests Took up the age-old journey yesterday, The young on the women's hacks, and -- should they cry -- Treasure awaits them at the hanging breasts. On foot, the men, whose shouldered weapons gleam, Trudge by the wagons where their families lie. Their gaze is heavy as they scan the sky With nameless shadows of a distant dream. The cricket, watching from its sandy bower, Greets their approach with loudest eloquence; Cybele makes earth greener for their sake; The rock becomes a spring, the deserts flower Before these wanderers, as they march to take The constant empire of the unknown hence. |