Rite of Spring


This is the pitiful spring-time-fest!
Blossoming girls with streaming hair -
A wild mob rushing everywhere,
Wailing with grief and bare of breast:
Adonis! Adonis!

Night falls and by torch-light beams
They search, combing through the trees
That echo their alarmed unease;
The weeping laughter, the sobbing screams:
Adonis! Adonis!

The fine figure of youth, so fair
Lies on the ground, pale and dead.
His blood dyes all the flowers red -
Loud lamentation fills the air:
Adonis! Adonis!