In the houses where one
still converses with neighbors
beside the fire; where already
the daughter-in-law brings to
Grandma her babies,
one in her arms, two by the hand;
through the black chimney,
amid the crackling of logs,
the wind carries a sound long and slow:
three, five, seven chimes
from a village very far away:
three, five, seven voices
of people, slow and languid:
voices from a hamlet at the crosses,
people who no longer have anything.
Be silent! Silent! Silent!
We do not want to know.
Night? Day? Winter? Summer?
Silent, you with that cradle!
See that the infant does not cry. Be
silent! Silent! Silent! Silent!
We do not want to remember
wine and wheat, mountains and plains,
the cabins, the hearth.
Mother, babies, Be silent!
Silent! Silent! Silent! Silent!
(Giovanni Pascoli)
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Based on Topics: Night Poems, Cry Poems, Fire Poems, Mothers Poems, Summer Poems, People Poems, Winter Poems, Babies PoemsBased on Keywords: daughter-in-law, converses