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Democratic League Sannita


The Democratic League Sannita proposes only virtually present, the regional union of the countries of Sannio, which would arise with the passage of the Province of Benevento and some countries in the Province of Caserta in Molise.

HISTORICAL . This project is not new: after the constitution of the Kingdom of Italy, there was a movement of thought, fueled by Benevento patriots who in 1860 released the city from papal rule, which supported the cause of recovery, within the realm , a political-administrative entities of Sannio. The Parliament of the Kingdom is interested in the issue to the point that during Crispi government, it seemed that the decision had been taken. But the Crispi government fell, and with him the project. Recently, the debate over the creation of a Sunni region has been rekindled and the Molisannio, indicating the mortgage Italian region formed by the union of these countries.

WHAT ARE THE REASONS WHY THE DEMOCRATIC LEAGUE SANNITA AIMS TO BRING FORWARD MOLISANNIO? reasons and, in addition to a number of peculiarities that distinguish the area of \u200b\u200bCaserta and Benevento from most of Campania (the nature of the terrain, history, traditions, the same urban structure), are primarily economic reasons of survival.

Have you ever wondered what happens to the Molise with fiscal federalism?
Quite frankly, we are pests in the Italian context, the statistics bear this out, from the state much more than when paid. Any € 100 of VAT in Molise will return 87, and only 26 Lombardy. The Northern League has brought the focus of the program priorities of the center including fiscal federalism. The economy of Molise, with federalism, it will fall even lower. There will be a huge crisis.
With a population of around 320,838 inhabitants and the economy consistent with a slice-based civil service, how it can support the costs alone regional? He can not! Suffice it to say that a district has more people of Rome.

There are two solutions:
1) That the Molise will be wrapped in a deep crisis , will eliminate several offices, jobs and more consecutive migrations.
2) The Molisannio . If one day will be set up: an area of \u200b\u200b6509.20 km ², a population of 608,646 inhabitants and a population density of 101 inhabitants per km, and a gross domestic product 10,536.6 mil euro; a Product per capita of 16,237 € year.

We opt for the second solution. This means survival, more revenue and more strength at national level. Of course, we hope a good management in our region, effective administration and meritocracy, in order to maximize our resources and prevent further depopulation with the departure of our best members.
SANNITA DEMOCRATIC LEAGUE

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Day by Day - Giuseppe Ungaretti

"No, Mom, have you ever suffered so much ..." And the face

already disappeared but the eyes
still alive from the pillow turned to the window, and
sparrows filled the room to

scattered the crumbs from the father to distract her baby ...

Now I can only dream kiss
's confident hands ...
and talks, jobs,
have just changed, I fear, smoke ...
How can I bear such night? ...

I will the years
who knows what other horrors, but I felt
beside
m'avresti consulate ...

Never, never know
enlightens me as the shadow that stands beside me, shy, when I hope
more ...

Now where, where is that naive
voice resonating in the race for the rooms,
worries raised by a tired man ...? The land has
defeat, protects
a past story ...

Any other voice is an echo that goes
now that calls me from the heights
immortal ...

In heaven I seek your happy face,
and my eyes see nothing in me also wants to close
when God ...

And I love you, love you, and it is constantly crashing! ...

furious land, sea huge
separates me from the place where the tomb now dispersed

the battered body ...
does not matter ... I always listen to that voice more distinct

soul that I could not defend here ...
M'isola, more festive and friendly
minute by minute,
in his simple secret ...

I returned to the hills, the pines and the rate of air
loved the native accent
riudrò not with you,
breaks my every breath ...

Skip the swallow summer and with it, and I
, I say, I will ... But I love that remains

wrenching not just sign a quick misting
if hell come to some peace ... Under the dark

disillusioned
branch falling just complain,
less than the leaf at the touch of the breeze ...
It was the fury that struck the tender form and caring

charity of an item consumes me ...

No more rage I went to summer
Spring nor his forebodings;
can decline, fall,
with your foolish glory:
for a bare desire
winter season stretches more lenient! ... Already

m'è bones fell
autumnal dryness, but
, continued from the shadows, infinite
occurs
a demented brilliance:
torture secret twilight
sunk ...

Rievocherò without remorse
always delightful agony of meaning? Play
, blind man: "A soul has left the ordinary punishment
still unscathed ..." I

discouraged unless
longer hear the cries of her purity live
to hear that almost extinct in the
me shudder in fear of crime? To dazzle

ringing the windows
team a reflection on the shade cloth,
fleeting return to the luster of a jar
dall'aiuola puffy hydrangeas, drunk a swallow,
the skyscraper in flames cloud, tree
, jumps of a small child ...

Inexhaustible
roar of waves is given then that comes into the room
and freshness of a restless
blue line, every wall disappears ... It's sweet and perhaps

nearby steps
saying: "This sun and plenty of space
you calm down. In the pure wind you can hear
time walk and my voice.
in me I picked up gradually and closed
The momentum of your silent hopes.
are for you the dawn and intact day

17 pieces, written between 1940 and 1946, dedicated to the premature death of nine year old son

Giuseppe Ungaretti (Alexandria, Egypt, February 8, 1888 - Milan, June 1, 1970)

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rock thrushes - San Giacomo Leopardi

D' on the summit of the ancient tower,
Thrush, singing
go to the campaign until the day more;
errs and harmony to this valley. Spring round

shines in the air, and fields for them cheers,
So were mirarla touches the core.
Odi flocks bleating, bellowing herds

other birds are happy to race together for the free sky
fan thousand revolutions,
while celebrating their best time:
you pensive on the sidelines all intended;
no companions, no flights,
not you care for fun, Dodge amusements;
songs, and so transitions
year of your life and the most beautiful flower.

Alas, how like my
your costume! Sollazzo and rice, sweet young age of
family, and you
German youth, love, bitter sigh
de 'experienced days
do not care, I do not know how, and indeed almost run away from them
away;
almost solitary, and strange to my site
native
step of my life in the spring. This day gives
ch'omai the evening, celebrate
is the custom in our village.
Listen to the peaceful sound of a ringing,
often hear a thunderclap of iron rods,
resounding far away from town to town. All dressed up

the youth of the site
leave the houses and streets spreads;
and aims and is targeted, and in my heart rejoices.
I alone in this remote paths
part in the coming campaign, every pleasure and play

delay in another time and in the meantime I look at the spread in the air
aprica
me the beasts that Sol between distant mountains, the day after
peaceful,
falling vanishes, and seems to say that the blessed youth
faints.

You, solitary little bird, come to
evening of live that will give you the stars,
sure your costume will not
Dorrao; that nature is the result of all your
vagueness.
To me, if you hated the threshold of old age

avoid not implore,
silent when these eyes another's heart, and their
FIA vote, the world, and the future of
to present more dull and dreary, that seem
of this desire?
that these years of mine? that of myself?
pentirommi ahi, and often, but sadly
, volgerommi back.

Poem written in 1831. Comparison between the poet and the Sparrow, both alone, but in a different way

Giacomo Leopardi (Recanati, June 29, 1798 - Naples, June 14, 1837)

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Martino - Carducci

The fog gl'irti packages
drizzling salt
And under the mistral
Screams and whitens the sea;
But the streets of the village from bubbling
de 'tini
It is the bitter odor of wines
soul to cheer.
Turn on 'strains lit
The spit and sputtered: He's a hunter

whistling on the door to gaze
Among the reddish clouds
Flocks of birds blacks,
Com'esuli thoughts
In twilight migrate

poetry collection New Poems (1861-1887), perhaps inspired by a poem by Ippolito Nievo (Padua, November 30, 1831 - Mar Tirreno, March 4, 1861)

Carducci (Valdicastello, July 27, 1835 - Bologna , February 16, 1907)

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So gentle and so Onesta Pare - Dante Alighieri

So gentle and so honest it seems
my lady, when she greets others, that every language
Deven, trembling, silent, and eyes
no 's dare to look.

She goes, praise, feeling, clothed with humility
benignly,
and seems to be something coming
miracle from heaven to earth to show.

Mostrasi so attractive to those who aim for the eyes
which gives a sweetness to the core, which
'ntender not the people who can not proof;

and seems to be moved from his lip
a gentle spirit, full of love,

that is saying to the soul: "She sighs."

Poetry (Sonnet) dedicated to Beatrice, taken from the "New Life" (1292-1293)

Dante Alighieri (Florence, 1265 - Ravenna, September 13, 1321)

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I saw the eyes where Love began - Guido Cavalcanti

I saw the eyes where Love began when
made me fearful of himself,
looking at me as I was boring:
then say that 'the heart of foreign currency;

and were it not that the woman laughed,
the 'talk of such a sorrowful way, it would
that Love selfsame angry mood
which made' the image I conquered.

moved a spirit from heaven, at that point that the woman I
worth watching, and Vennes
to rest in my care:

me he has one of the true love, her power to see that every
I think
it as I had come into his heart.

Guido Cavalcanti (about 1255 - August 29, 1300)

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The Triumph of Bacchus and Ariadne - Lorenzo de 'Medici the


How beautiful youth who flees though!
Who wants to be happy, either:
in tomorrow there is no certainty.

this or Bacchus and Ariadne,
beautiful, and the other an ardent:
because 'the time flies, and tricks, along with standard
always happy.

These nymphs and other people are happy, however.
Who wants to be happy, either: there is no certainty in tomorrow
. These forward

satiretti,
nymphs in love,
for caves and woods have their place one hundred
ambushes;
ago by Bacchus heated
ballon, but Salton.
Who wants to be happy, either: there is no certainty in tomorrow
.

These nymphs also have dear
be deceived by them:
hours
suonon mixed together, Canton, however.
Who wants to be happy, either: there is no certainty in tomorrow
.

This burden, which comes after him
on the donkey is Silenus:
so old and drunk and happy, already
meat and full of years;
if he can not stand up, laugh and enjoy at least
however.
Who wants to be happy, either: there is no certainty in tomorrow
.

Mida comes after him to them:
what touches becomes gold.
what shall it profit you darling, if none then
not satisfied?
Who wants to be happy, either:
of tomorrow there is no certainty. Each

open ears well, no one in tomorrow
pastures;
today are young and old,
pleased everyone, males and females;
every sad thought helmets
party, however, that we form.
Who wants to be happy, either: there is no certainty in tomorrow
. Women and youths

lovers,
live Bacchus and long live Love! Each
sounds, dances and songs! Arda
the core of sweetness!
no fatigue, no pain! That which has the
be, it behooves both.
Who wants to be happy, either: there is no certainty in tomorrow
.

Poetry (song), written probably in 1490. Describes the parade of mythical, invented by the author

Lorenzo Piero di Cosimo de 'Medici , called the Magnificent (Florence, January 1, 1449 - Careggi, Florence, April 8, 1492)

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Sera - Ugo Foscolo

Perhaps because of the fatal quiet
you're the imago
come to me so dear, or evening! And when you Corteggiani happy
the summer clouds and calm breezes,

and when air from the snowy darkness, and long restless
universe phenomena
always relied come down, and the secret ways
gently hold of my heart.

Vagar make me co 'my thoughts about the tracks that go
anything ever, and while fleeing
this time offender, and the van with him hordes

care so he destroys me, and while I look at
your peace, sleeping
who enter the warrior spirit groans.

sonnet written in 1803

Ugo Foscolo (Zakynthos, February 6, 1778 - London, September 10, 1827)

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On Saturday in the village - Giacomo Leopardi


The maiden from the countryside into the sunset,
with his bundle of grass, and is holding
a bunch of roses and violets,
waves, as wont, she is going ornate
tomorrow, a day of celebration, chest and hair.
sits with neighboring
up the ladder the old woman in rows,
meeting where you lose the day and
News is its good weather, when the
of the party she decorated, and even healthy, lean

sun danced on the evening of intra
those who once had the most beautiful companions age.
already darkening the air, the clear blue
back, and they return the shadows
off 'packages and' roof, the whitening of the recent
moon. Or the phone call

sign of the party who comes

would you say that sound and that the heart is comforted. The children crying

on open space in the crowd, and
jumping here and there, make a joyful noise
;
and meanwhile he returns to his frugal meal,
whistling, the digger,
him and thinks of his rest.

Then when around each other is off face, and all the other silent
,
hear the hammer hit, hate
saw the carpenter, who watches
closed shop in the lamp,
and impatient, and s'adopra
to provide the deed to the contrary brightening dawn.

This is the most welcome of seven days,
full of hope and joy, sadness and boredom
Diman
recheran the hours, and the labor used in each
his thoughts will return.

playful lad,
Cotesta
flowering age is like a day full of joy,
clear day, peaceful,
that precedes the celebration of your life.
Rejoice, my child, was sweet, happy
season is that tub.
Others do not wish to say, 'But your party
ch'anco to come later will not be serious.

Poem written in 1829 in Recanati

Giacomo Leopardi (Recanati, June 29, 1798 - Naples, June 14, 1837)

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ancient plants - Carducci

tree toward which the little girl
hand, the
pomegranate green
from 'beautiful scarlet flowers, garden

in silent solitary
revive everything just now and June

restores the light and heat. You

flower of my plant
beaten and withered, useless life
you de l'extreme
single flower,

art in the cold earth,
art in the land negra
neither the sun nor
more you glad you love awakens.

Poem written in 1871 in memory of her son Dante

Carducci (Valdicastello, July 27, 1835 - Bologna, February 16, 1907)

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Cavalla Transfer - Giovanni Pascoli

the Tower silence was high.
whispering poplars Salto del Rio.
Norman horses to put their
frangean the corn with rumors of splits.
Over there the horse was wild,
born among the pine trees on the beach sauce;
that had nostrils in the spray of the sea again,
and screaming in my ears sharp. With the crib
on one elbow, it
was my mother and tells her softly:
"O horse, horse transfers,
that carried him not return, you
you understood her sign and told her!
He left a young son, the first of
'eight of my sons and daughters;
and his hand never touched reins.
you that you feel the hurricane to the sides, you
you listen to his little hand.
man who has you in the heart of the barren sea,
you girl you listen to his voice. " The horse wheeled

the gaunt head toward my mother, who said more sad:
"O horse, horse transfers,
that carried him not return;
I know, I know that you loved strong!
With him, you were there alone and his death. O
born in the woods between the waves and wind, you
you held your heart in fright;
period in the mouth feeling the bite, in the heart
fast you premesti course:
slowly seguitasti your way, why did
in peace ... the agony "
The head was bare long daccanto
the sweet face of my mother in tears.
" O horse, horse transfers,
that carried him not return;
oh! although he was obliged to say a few words!
And you know, but you can not complain. You
with free rein in its paws, in the eyes
with the fire of flames,
in the ears with the echo of explosions,
seguitasti the way among the tall poplars
between the reported death of the sun, because
udissimo us his words. "
He was careful to show long head.
My mother hugged her on the mane
" O horse, horse transfers,
brought to his house who does not Back!
To me, those who will not return ever!
You were good ... But you can not speak!
You do not know, poor thing, others dare not.
Oh! but you have to tell me something!
You've seen the man who killed him: it
thee here in the pupils FISE.
Who was? Who is it? I want to say a name.
And you mention. God teach you, how. "
Now, the horses do not frangean the corn:
dormian dreaming of the white road.
The straw with the nail battean not empty:
dormian dreaming of the roller wheels.
My mother raised a finger in the silence:
said a name ... They are a high nitrite.

Poem written after the death of his father in mysterious circumstances in August 1867

Giovanni Pascoli Placido Augustine (San Mauro di Romagna, December 31, 1855 - Bologna, April 6, 1912)

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The Cinque Maggio - Alessandro Manzoni

Ei fu. Because still, given the
mortal sigh, stood the bare

orba from time immemorial breath,
well beaten, stunned
the earth is the nuncio,

outline planning last hours of man
fatal
or knows if a similar footprint
pie 'deadly
its bloody dust
will trample on.

brilliant in Solio
He saw my genius, and was silent;
when, instead assiduous
fell, and lay resources,
of a thousand voices to Sonito
mixed his did not:

maid servant of praise and
cowardly outrage, or moved to sudden rises

long-range shots, and melts
urn
a song that maybe not die.

From the Alps to the Pyramids, Manzanares
from the Rhine, that's a sure

was holding the lightning flash behind;
burst by Scilla at Tanai,
from one to another Tues

was real glory? For posterity will judge
: nui
chiniam the front of the Massimo
Maker, who wanted him in his mind of the creator

larger footprint print.

the storm and anxious
joy of a great design,
the anxiety of a heart that is
restive, thinking of the kingdom
and comes and takes a prize
that it was madness to hope;

all and felt the glory after
most danger,
escape and victory,
the palace and the sad exile;
twice in the dust,
twice on the altar. Ei is

He named two centuries, one
against each other armed
subdued him turned, as if waiting
fate;
and fe 'silence, he sat down and referee
among them.

and disappeared, and the day in idleness
closed in so short a bank, a sign of immense

envy and deep piety, of
inestinguibil
and hatred of untamed love.

How to castaway on the head and weighs s'avvolve
the wave, the wave
on which the poor, but even now
high and tense,
scorrea sight to discern
remote shores in vain;

this on that ' alma
a combination of memories came down.
How often narrating himself to posterity
business, and ethics
pages
fell to the tired man!

Oh, how often, the tacit
a day die of inert
lie close to the lightning-rai, sen
her arms folded, stood
, and the day we were
assalse to recollect!

and rethink furniture
tents, beaten and valleys, and lightning
de 'handpieces,
and the wave of the horses, and an excited

powers and swift obeyed.

Ouch! perhaps as much havoc
fell the spirit yearns,
and despair, but it was a valid
man from heaven, and more breathability

pitiful air transport;

and the launch pei flourishing
path of hope, to
eternal fields, premium
that would like to make, where silence and darkness

the glory that had passed.

Bella Immortal! Faith beneficial
accustomed to triumphs!
Writing even this cheerful,
most superb
height of dishonor to Golgotha \u200b\u200b
ne'er be lowered. You tired from the ashes


disperses each estuary word
lands and the God who inspires, who
breathless and comforting, the deserted
coltrice
placed beside him.

Poem written in 1821 and dedicated to Napoleon

Alessandro Manzoni (Milan, March 7, 1785 - Milan, May 22, 1873)

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Infinity - Giacomo Leopardi

always been dear to me was this hill,
And this hedge, which has so much De
the farthest horizon excludes.
But as I sit and gaze,
limitless space beyond that, and superhuman
silences, and deepest quiet in
I thought I pretend, if just for
heart is overwhelmed. And as I hear the wind rustling through the trees
I
that infinite silence to this entry
comparing Vo: and I am reminded of the eternal,
And the dead seasons, and this
is alive, and 'the sound of it. So in this
Infinity my thought is drowned:
It 's sweet to shipwreck in this sea.

Written Poetry between 1818 and 1821, during a visit to Recanati, Marche.

Giacomo Leopardi (Recanati, June 29, 1798 - Naples, June 14, 1837)

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Piazza Dante

I never had the courage to go to Piazza Dante , the square with his chin, the hanging garden that circumvents the building swollen post, but soon we'll go and photos.