Written by
Giacomo Leopardi |
Now will you rest forever,
My tired heart.
Dead is the last
deception,
That I thought eternal.
Dead.
Well I
feel
In us the sweet illusions,
Nothing but ash, desire burned out.
Rest forever.
You have
Trembled enough.
Nothing is worth
Thy beats, nor does the earth
deserve
Thy sighs.
Bitter and dull
Is life, there is nought else.
The
world is clay.
Rest now.
Despair
For the last time.
To our kind, Fate
Gives but death.
Now despise
Yourself, nature, the sinister
Power that secretly commands our
common ruin,
And the infinite vanity of
everything.
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Written by
Giacomo Leopardi |
Oh gracious moon, now as the year turns,
I remember how, heavy with sorrow,
I climbed this hill to gaze on you,
And then as now you hung above those trees
Illuminating all.
But to my eyes
Your face seemed clouded, temulous
From the tears that rose beneath my lids,
So painful was my life: and is, my
Dearest moon; its tenor does not change.
And yet, memory and numbering the epochs
Of my grief is pleasing to me.
How welcome
In that youthful time -when hope's span is long,
And memory short -is the remembrance even of
Past sad things whose pain endures.
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Written by
Giacomo Leopardi |
These solitary hills have always been dear to me.
Seated here, this sweet hedge, which blocks the distant horizon opening inner silences and interminable distances.
I plunge in thought to where my heart, frightened, pulls back.
Like the wind which I hear tossing the trembling plants which surround me, a voice from the inner depths of spirit shakes the certitudes of thought.
Eternity breaks through time, past and present intermingle in her image.
In the inner shadows I lose myself,
drowning in the sea-depths of timeless love.
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