Read "Sunday Afternoon in Italy" by D.H. Lawrence online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
THE man and the maid go side by side / With an interval of space between; / And his hands are awkward and want to hide, / She braves it out since she must be seen.
When some one passes he drops his head / Shading his face in his black felt hat, / While the hard girl hardens; nothing is said, / There is nothing to wonder or cavil at.
Alone on the open road again / With the mountain snows across the lake / Flushing the afternoon, they are uncomfortable, / The loneliness daunts them, their stiff throats / ache.
And he sighs with relief when she parts from him; / Her proud head held in its black silk scarf / Gone under the archway, home, he can join / The men that lounge in a group on the wharf.
His evening is a flame of wine / Among the eager, cordial men. / And she with her women hot and hard / Moves at her ease again.
_She is marked, she is singled out / For the fire: / The brand is upon him, look--you, / Of desire.
They are chosen, ah, they are fated / For the fight! / Champion her, all you women! Men, menfolk / Hold him your light!
Nourish her, train her, harden her / Women all! / Fold him, be good to him, cherish him / Men, ere he fall.
Women, another champion! / This, men, is yours! / Wreathe and enlap and anoint them / Behind separate doors._
GARGNANO