Monte Pellegrino in sea fog.
The streets of the city in shrouds.
Fierce grief and black wings
From hidden balconies.

Santa Rosalia! Santuzza!

A village girl has died!
Santa Rosalia! A girl like you!
She dreamt of black grapes.
She heard the howl of a sick dog.

Santa Rosalia! Santuzza!

Giuseppina has died!
They are washing her feet.
She wears a coral necklace
And a red ribbon in her hair.

Santa Rosalia! Santuzza!

The guests are throwing corn
And carrying trays of food.
Giuseppina! Who is waiting
For you in the casa nuova?
Candles by the bed,
Serenading from the street.

Santa Rosalia! Santuzza!

The almonds are bitter
In the mouth of the groom.
He heard the bell and the clock
Of the church chime together
And a voice whispered: “It is she.”

Santa Rosalia! Santuzza!

The groom has gone to the mountains
With a torch of orange blossoms.
He cannot mourn.
He has gone to the mountain.

Santa Rosalia! Santuzza!

The mother of the bride
Is tearing out her hair.
Giuseppina is sleeping.
They have fed her honey
But she will not awaken.
They have brought her lilies;
She will not awaken.

Santa Rosalia! Santuzza!
A girl from the village has died!