Chapter 39 OVER THE GARFAGNANA

So in the long August days, that are so fierce in the city, I sought once more the hills, the hills that are full of songs, those songs which in Italy have grown with the flowers and are full of just their wistful beauty, their expectancy and sweetness.

"Fiorin di grano,

Lasciatemi cantar, chè allegra sono,

Ho rifatto la pace col mio damo.