—The souls of the neighbor children tremble, uneasy in their hunger. Sighs hasten from sleeping mothers, their brows furrowed with care and despair. Nightmares of poverty trouble the hearts of crippled men, and I hear bitter weeping and disjointed cries filling breasts with grief and regret.

—The scent of narcissus and lily fill the air, and the perfumes of jasmine and elder mingle with the fresh breaths of the cedars. The breeze carries them by night above the hilltops and twisted mountain paths to fill the soul with longing and to make it yearn to glide in the air.

—Stench rises from foul alleys, from the ferment of disease germs. Like sharp unseen arrows it rends the senses and poisons the air.

—The morning has come, my love. The fingers of wakefulness have touched sleeping eyes. Violet rays stream from beyond the night, rending the veil that had concealed the energy and glory of life, arousing villages that had lain in calm and silence on the slopes of the valley. Church bells ring and fill the cether with their call, piously proclaiming the start of morning worship, and the caves echo to their voices as though all nature stood in prayer. Calves leave their stalls. Flocks of sheep and goats leave their pens for the fields, lowering their heads to crop the tips of grass glittering with dew. Before them walk shepherds blowing their flutes, behind them girls, greeting the morning with the sparrows.

—The morning has come, my beloved, spreading heavy hands of day above the crowded houses. Curtains are drawn from the windows, and doors are pulled open to reveal grey faces and worried eyes. The wretched trudge to the factories, death dwelling within their bodies beside life, their pinched features showing the shadow of despair and fear, the shadow that would darken the face of one sent against his will to a fearful and deadly battle. The streets are choked with people in greedy haste. The air is filled with the shock of steel, the grinding of gears, the shriek of steam. The town has become a battlefield where strong fight weak and the tyrannous rich monopolize the fruits of the toil of the poor and destitute.

—How beautiful is life here, my love, for it is like the heart of the poet, filled with life and delicacy!

—How harsh is life here, my beloved, for it is like the heart of a criminal, filled with vice and horrors!

THE BRIDAL BEL

THE BRIDAL BEL2

The bride and groom left the church with the happy guests following behind and torchbearers going before. Around them young men danced and girls sang songs of joy.