3.2K The Abruzzo poet Gabrielle D’Annunzio alongside his lover Hermione explored the spirit of a damp Abruzzo forest listening to the rain falling on the different trees and plants: “Hush. On the edge Of the woods I do not hear Words which you call Human; but I hear Words which are newer Spoken by droplets and leaves Far away. Listen. Rain falls From the scattered clouds. Rain falls on the tamarisks Briny and parched. Rain falls on the pine trees Scaly and bristling, Rain falls on the myrtles- Divine, On the broom-shrubs gleaming With clustered flowers, On the junipers thick With fragrant berries, Rain falls on our faces- Sylvan, Rain falls on our hands- Naked, On our clothes- Light, On the fresh thoughts That our soul discloses- Renewed, On the lovely fable That yesterday Beguiled you, that beguiles me today, O Hermione. Do you hear? The rain is falling On the solitary Greenness With a crackling that persists And varies in the air According to the foliage Sparser, less sparse. Listen. The weeping is answered By the song Of the Cicadas Which are not frightened By the weeping of the South wind Or the ashen sky And the pine tree Has one sound, and the myrtle Another sound, and the juniper Yet another, instruments Different Under numberless fingers. And we are Immersed in the spirit Of the woodland, Alive with arboreal life; And your ecstatic face Is soft with rain As a leaf And your hair Is fragrant like The bright broom-flowers, O earthly creature Whose name is Hermione. Listen, listen. The harmony Of the high-borne cicadas Gradually becomes Fainter Beneath the weeping That grows stronger; But a song mingles with it- Hoarser, Rising from down there, From the far damp shade. Fainter and weaker It slackens, fades away. Only one note Still trembles, fades away. Rises again, trembles, fades away. One hears no sea voice. Now one hears upon all the foliage, Pelting, The silvery rain That cleanses, The pelting that varies According to the foliage Thicker, less thick. Listen. The daughter of the air is mute; but the daughter Of the miry swamp, in the distance, The frog, Is singing in the deepest shade, Who knows where, who knows where! And rain falls on your lashes, Hermione. Rain falls on your black eyelashes So that you seem to weep But from pleasure; not white But made almost green, You seem to emerge from bark. And within us all life is fresh, Fragrant, The heart in our breasts is like a peach Untouched, The eyes between the eyelids Are like springs in the grass, The teeth in their sockets Are like bitter almonds. And we go from thicket to thicket, Now joined, now apart (And the rough green vigour Entwines our ankles, Entangles our knees) Who knows where, who knows where! And rain falls on our faces- Sylvan, Rain falls on our hands- Naked, On our clothes- Light, On the fresh thoughts That our soul discloses- Renewed, On the lovely fable That yesterday Beguiled me, that beguiles you today, O Hermione.” Author: Sam Dunham Sam is a very lucky midlife Mum to A who is 13 and juggles working as a freelance SEO copywriter with teaching IGCSEs at Istituto Cristo Re in Rome. She is the founder of the Life In Abruzzo Cultural Association, co-founder of Let's Blog Abruzzo and the 'English in the Woods' initiative. Protecting Abruzzo’s Charm,Empowering Generations to Come:Grow Life in Abruzzo! Support our not-for-profit cultural association: Donate now FREE NEWSLETTER Leave this field empty if you're human: