(translated from Giosue Carducci)
I dream of gentle things. My freshman year,
a room where sun poured in, freedom from books,
the thundering carts on cobbles in the via,
a wreath of sorghum round my neck. To look
out from my window was unbroken joy:
one way those flower-carpeted old hills,
the other, sparkling shoreline: still a boy,
I splashed out on a suit, and shirts with frills!
I'll never know that animal verve again.
I'm sure that glittering sea, those slumbering isles,
were not like now, prosaic. And summer rain,
I swear, on mornings when it caught me, smiled.
(after Giosue Carducci)
Yes, even youth seems new, this shiny day
of joy. It's April, clean and green and clear!
The bells are clanging, merrily, all the way
to far-off hills, proclaiming Easter's here.
Their echoes throng the vale, and seem to say,
"We've seen off dark and fog for one more year!"
The night is put to flight by smiling day -
Farewell to stew and broth - bring wine and beer!
We owe all this to our Unconquered Sun.
He's flooding back with warmth and life and light.
He promised us that He would win the fight
and, even when it seemed that Dark had won,
and He was at His weakest, spat on, shunned,
we never doubted Him. And weren't we right?
(after Giosue Carducci)
I dreamed of gentle things. My freshman year,
a room where sun poured in, freedom from books,
the thundering carts on cobbles in the via,
a wreath of sorghum round my neck. To look
out from my window was unbroken joy:
one way those flower-carpeted old hills,
the other, sparkling shoreline: still a boy,
I splashed out on a suit, and shirts with frills!
I'll never know that animal verve again.
I'm sure that glittering sea, those slumbering isles,
were not like now, prosaic. And summer rain,
I swear, on mornings when it caught me, smiled.
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