I suffer. Far, far away
The sleeping fog
Rises from the quiet plain.

Shrilly, cawing, the crows,
Trusting their black wings,
Traverse the moors, grimly.

To the raw bites of air
The sorrowful tree trunks
Offer, praying, their bare branches.

How cold I am! I am alone;
Driven through the gray sky
A groan of the dead soars.

And repeats to me: come;
The valley is dark.
O sad one, o unloved one, come!

Nebbie- Ada Negri/Ottorino Respighi 1921