D. H. Lawrence’s “Giorno dei Morti” describes an Italian village on the Day of the Dead. A formal procession moves through the avenue of cypresses: choristers in scarlet and white, priests in gold and black, villagers following. The crowd watches quietly along the road to the cemetery, their faces shadowed by scarves and bare heads. Then the focus shifts to two figures at a grave—a father standing with hollowed posture and a mother kneeling, pale and distant. The final stanza returns to the procession, but the parents are so lost in grief that they do not hear the chanting or notice the candle flames. The poem creates a hushed, weighted atmosphere, contrasting the public, colorful ritual with the private numbness of mourning. The speaker’s tone is restrained and compassionate, as if observing from a respectful distance.
Giorno dei Morti — Summary
Along the avenue of cypresses All in their scarlet cloaks, and surplices Of linen go the chanting choristers, The priests in gold and black, the villagers. . . .
And all along the path to the cemetery The round dark heads of men crowd silently, And black-scarved faces of women-folk, wistfully Watch at the banner of death, and the mystery.
And at the foot of a grave a father stands With sunken head, and forgotten, folded hands; And at the foot of a grave a mother kneels With pale shut face, nor either hears nor feels
The coming of the chanting choristers Between the avenue of cypresses, The silence of the many villagers, The candle-flames beside the surplices.