Giacomo Leopardi

At times thy image to my mind returns, Aspasia. In the crowded streets it gleams Upon me, for an instant, as I pass,

The storm hath passed; I hear the birds rejoice; the hen, Returned into the road again,

Approaching now the end of his abode On earth, Consalvo lay; complaining once, Of his hard fate, but now quite reconciled,

Ah, well can I the day recall, when first The conflict fierce of love I felt, and said: If this be love, how hard it is to bear!

I. I round the threshold wandering here, Vainly the tempest and the rain invoke,

Illustrious fathers of the human race, Of you, the song of your afflicted sons Will chant the praise; of you, more dear, by far,

Wandering from the parent bough, Little, trembling leaf, Whither goest thou?

Children of Fate, in the same breath Created were they, Love and Death. Such fair creations ne'er were seen,

What doest thou in heaven, O moon? Say, silent moon, what doest thou? Thou risest in the evening; thoughtfully

Where Is Seen A Young Maiden, Dead, In The Act Of Departing, Taking Leave Of Her Family. Where goest thou? Who calls Thee from my dear ones far away?

(THEN UNFINISHED.) Though all the nations now Peace gathers under her white wings,

Such wast thou: now in earth below, Dust and a skeleton thou art. Above thy bones and clay,

To The Marquis Gino Capponi. I was mistaken, my dear Gino. Long And greatly have I erred. I fancied life

Ye dear stars of the Bear, I did not think I should again be turning, as I used, To see you over father's garden shine,

When, as a boy, I went To study in the Muses' school, One of them came to me, and took

It was the morning; through the shutters closed, Along the balcony, the earliest rays Of sunlight my dark room were entering;

The night is mild and clear, and without wind, And o'er the roofs, and o'er the gardens round The moon shines soft, and from afar reveals

Here, on the arid ridge Of dead Vesuvius, Exterminator terrible,

This lonely hill to me was ever dear, This hedge, which shuts from view so large a part Of the remote horizon. As I sit

Thou tranquil night, and thou, O gentle ray Of the declining moon; and thou, that o'er The rock appearest, 'mid the silent grove,

The morning rain, when, from her coop released, The hen, exulting, flaps her wings, when from The balcony the husbandman looks forth,

Thou from the top of yonder antique tower, O lonely sparrow, wandering, hast gone, Thy song repeating till the day is done,

I thought I had forever lost, Alas, though still so young, The tender joys and sorrows all,

Most sweet, most powerful, Controller of my inmost soul; The terrible, yet precious gift

As, in the lonely night, Above the silvered fields and streams Where zephyr gently blows,

The damsel from the field returns, The sun is sinking in the west; Her bundle on her head she sets,

When in the Thracian dust uprooted lay, In ruin vast, the strength of Italy, And Fate had doomed Hesperia's valleys green,

The face of glory and her pleasant voice, O fortunate youth, now recognize, And how much nobler than effeminate sloth

Italian bold, why wilt thou never cease The fathers from their tombs to summon forth? Why bring them, with this dead age to converse,

This wearisome and this distressing sleep That we call life, O how dost thou support, My Pepoli? With what hopes feedest thou

Nor wilt thou rest forever, weary heart. The last illusion is destroyed, That I eternal thought. Destroyed!

Since now thou art about to leave Thy father's quiet house, And all the phantoms and illusions dear,

My country, I the walls, the arches see, The columns, statues, and the towers Deserted, of our ancestors;

O Sylvia, dost thou remember still That period of thy mortal life, When beauty so bewildering

Beauty beloved, who hast my heart inspired, Seen from afar, or with thy face concealed, Save, when in visions of the night revealed,

O lovely moon, how well do I recall The time, - 'tis just a year - when up this hill I came, in my distress, to gaze at thee:

Now that the sun the faded charms Of heaven again restores, And gentle zephyr the sick air revives,