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)
0 comments:
Post a Comment