Il dono delle rose bianche . IL DONO DELLE ROSE BIANCHE MARIA. Cessare, padre, così.- sono quegli occhi di nocciolo che una volta guardavano fuori Beneath un incaticabile arricciatura in mirth? Giovanni. Ah, sì! Quei giorni, ahimè, theyre andato! Quei giorni celesti!Chi allora avrebbe osato profetizzarmi così,in sembianza, un ombrello mender bowedWith dolore? Padre. Moglie qui, profetizza molto peggio, I thats più difettosi sono stati, quando agone anni, voi wereIl bambino infernale dei vostri padri home.Get fuori! Hai scurvato cattivo, devilish ladro, Che ha derubato questa famiglia della sua perla più costoso!-Uscire! Prima di colpire! Maria. Cessi, padre, così.- voi Derubate

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The gift of white roses . THE GIFT OF WHITE ROSES Mary. Cease, father, thus.—Are those the hazel eyes that once looked outBeneath a careless curl in mirth? John. Ah, so! Those days, —alas, theyre gone! those heavenly days!Who then would dare have prophesied me thus, In semblance, an umbrella mender bowedWith grief? Father.Wife here, did prophesy far worse, The worst thats been, when years agone, you wereThe hellish infant of your fathers home.Get out! you scurvy villain, devilish thief, That robbed this household of its costliest pearl!—Get out! before I strike! Mary. Cease, father, thus.—You rob me of the only joy thats left.You shock my dizzy brain. It was not heThat thus you now behold, who robbed your hearth, It was not he that left the old home coldAnd cheerless. No, not he! He was my lover.We two were born but for each others joy.As giant timbers, brought from distant hills, Are mated for the ship, so we were madeEach others counterpart in heaven. Ah, say[65] l. THE GIFT OF WHITE ROSES It not. It was not he that robbed our home.—Twas licensed whisky! licensed brothels! not he.But why this waiting? I must know, een now, Your years, since long ago we parted fairTo meet thus foul. John. The storys hard to tell.I wish you had not asked it; I had ratherTrace the devil now through hell, than thisSad sickening story of my years of pain.But I will tell it through, will make it short.Yet, I had rather you should never knowThis wretched misery.—You knew I killedA villain— Father.Get you out! no murderer- I Mary. Cease, father! John.Who had drugged me for my money?This was the only glass I ever thoughtTo drink.—The last and only glass Ive drunk.—You know I told you when I saw you last, That he had pledged to help me get some work;It was a friendly glass; twas drunk for you, Drunk to secure his closer friendship, And through that the work, to keep our treasureTill the coming time when wed return again[66] THE GIFT OF WHITE ROSES To this old town, a

Parole chiave associate all'immagine

• bo
• bookcentury1900
• bookdecade1910
• bookidgiftofwhiteroses00bowm