..
Almost all humans have
fear of death, but I saw a picture
of Life was a form of
young woman like that to
pleasure calls, kept a bit '
raised her skirt. It was the Death:
brunette girl who was shown to me. What
clichés of the skeleton and scythe
curved?
She was beautiful and had the eyes of a brown opal.
In questa vita in cui l’uomo è nemico
anche del fratello, passa nei sogni
dell’età fiorita. Ci sorridiamo estatici.
Dopo tant’anni, quando ride bruta
la vita, con quell’invito perfido
bugiardo, tutta tossico e cicuta,
ora senti arido battere il cuore
una volta gagliardo: diventan bianchi
i tuoi capelli neri e di veleno
s’imbevono i pensieri; amaro piangi,
o sempre ridi: dinanzi al mondo
curvi la tua fronte, e all’anima
comandi: ridi, ridi anche se muore
chi ti vuol più bene, ma dentro
il petto sanguina il tuo cuore;
ed il tuo riso è un riso di dolore.
Despairing of you, your fate
call her an angel piteous,
and dreams of oblivion only in death, alone in death
the last rest.
And death will be, beautiful,
laughing at your foolish prayer. Cinta
of chrysanthemums and you will immortelles
daccanto Yeast
shroud of untouchability as snow, taunting
say stupid, live!
danced a medley
endless hours around that the storm;
blood-tinged things
border last night. At his feet
orchids weakened, were
leaves yellow and wilted, and it was the
Dream, Glory and Doom: she turned
the sky bruised black and
the supreme and terrible thought,
then fell in the midst of those things ... death. She passed
wrapped in white veils,
changes the face of wax and eye black,
the road that leads to the cemetery,
garland of pale daffodils.
She passed the night frosts.
with an even pace, silent, lightweight
the body erect, rigid and severe, while
flares were burning in the heavens.
begging a favor to his knees
marched a long line funeral,
men and women of all ages without
bursts of tears in the eyes with long looks
prayer
sobs crying, pity .-
And a voice Noble voce di pianto,
conosco – mormorava – ogni dolore,
sono stanco di vivere e soffrire …
E un’ altra: col mio bimbo al camposanto
ti prego lasciami dormire! – Col mio amore.
col mio povero amor fammi morire!...
E’ triste il cielo, oggi nereggia
una gran nube. Pioverà. Come
son tetri i monti senza sole. L’anima
è triste, l’anima non vuole andare
con dimessa fronte: vuole innalzare
sugli stolti come sopra un altare,
la mente e il cuore. Dall’alta vetta
che il sole bacia e indora in un saluto
all’abisso profondo e spaventoso,
lo stagno putrido s’imperla
with vivid reflections and sparkles, if it soaks the rice
of the aurora. Your life is the life
smell sweet and intoxicating
icily
death is not to disturb your dream from oblivion ...
fear of death, but I saw a picture
of Life was a form of
young woman like that to
pleasure calls, kept a bit '
raised her skirt. It was the Death:
brunette girl who was shown to me. What
clichés of the skeleton and scythe
curved?
She was beautiful and had the eyes of a brown opal.
In questa vita in cui l’uomo è nemico
anche del fratello, passa nei sogni
dell’età fiorita. Ci sorridiamo estatici.
Dopo tant’anni, quando ride bruta
la vita, con quell’invito perfido
bugiardo, tutta tossico e cicuta,
ora senti arido battere il cuore
una volta gagliardo: diventan bianchi
i tuoi capelli neri e di veleno
s’imbevono i pensieri; amaro piangi,
o sempre ridi: dinanzi al mondo
curvi la tua fronte, e all’anima
comandi: ridi, ridi anche se muore
chi ti vuol più bene, ma dentro
il petto sanguina il tuo cuore;
ed il tuo riso è un riso di dolore.
Despairing of you, your fate
call her an angel piteous,
and dreams of oblivion only in death, alone in death
the last rest.
And death will be, beautiful,
laughing at your foolish prayer. Cinta
of chrysanthemums and you will immortelles
daccanto Yeast
shroud of untouchability as snow, taunting
say stupid, live!
danced a medley
endless hours around that the storm;
blood-tinged things
border last night. At his feet
orchids weakened, were
leaves yellow and wilted, and it was the
Dream, Glory and Doom: she turned
the sky bruised black and
the supreme and terrible thought,
then fell in the midst of those things ... death. She passed
wrapped in white veils,
changes the face of wax and eye black,
the road that leads to the cemetery,
garland of pale daffodils.
She passed the night frosts.
with an even pace, silent, lightweight
the body erect, rigid and severe, while
flares were burning in the heavens.
begging a favor to his knees
marched a long line funeral,
men and women of all ages without
bursts of tears in the eyes with long looks
prayer
sobs crying, pity .-
And a voice Noble voce di pianto,
conosco – mormorava – ogni dolore,
sono stanco di vivere e soffrire …
E un’ altra: col mio bimbo al camposanto
ti prego lasciami dormire! – Col mio amore.
col mio povero amor fammi morire!...
E’ triste il cielo, oggi nereggia
una gran nube. Pioverà. Come
son tetri i monti senza sole. L’anima
è triste, l’anima non vuole andare
con dimessa fronte: vuole innalzare
sugli stolti come sopra un altare,
la mente e il cuore. Dall’alta vetta
che il sole bacia e indora in un saluto
all’abisso profondo e spaventoso,
lo stagno putrido s’imperla
with vivid reflections and sparkles, if it soaks the rice
of the aurora. Your life is the life
smell sweet and intoxicating
icily
death is not to disturb your dream from oblivion ...
-
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