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pale afternoon and evening of April absorbed

Noon
pale and absorbed in a hot wall 's garden, listen
among the thorns and brambles of blackbirds
pop, hiss of snakes.
cracks in the ground or in the vetch
spy rows of red ants
ch 'is now broken and now s' intertwined
a high of tiny heaps.
observed between the leaves flutter away flakes of sea

while they stand trembling Scricco
of cicadas from the bald peaks.
And going in the sun that dazzles
felt sad wonder
com 'is all his life and his labor

in this following a wall on top of that sharp shards of bottle .

Eugenio Montale

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the moon beats softly

beyond the glass on my

pot of primroses:

without seeing it I think the

primrose also as a great surprise

only

blue sky in the meadow.

Antonia Pozzi

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beauty

The wheat field is so beautiful

just because I'm in

poppy flowers and vetches

and your pale face

because it is pulled back a little

the weight of the long braid.

Corrado Govoni

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loneliness

(photo by Sergio Cherkessia)

He a solitude of space,

solitude of the sea

loneliness and death - yet

these are all crowd

in comparison to that deepest point,

privacy polar

that is a soul in the sight of herself

infinity over.

Emily Dickinson

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happiness that I have reached

Happiness reached, walk

for you on the edge of the blade.

six eyes gleam that wavers,

the foot, tense ice cracks;

and therefore does not touch you who loves you more.

If you come upon the souls invaded

of sadness and cleared, your morning

and 'sweet, as disturbers of the nests cornices.

But nothing pays the baby's crying

that runs the ball between the houses.

Eugenio Montale

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cicada

that I have for you
cicada song.

song for you you're quiet, shaded

alone in the big house. It fits

to my

It fits to my slight trend towards

and the smell of burnt
fugitive.

It suits the warm wind that
tick
stars
garlic into the furnace of sand.

born out of anger
the thorny thistle and goat

consoles with its flower.

Raffaele Carrieri

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Lyric spring

Exeunt happy

children from school,

launching in the warm air

April, take songs.

How much joy in the deep silence of

street!

A silence torn to pieces by

silver laughter again.

Federico Garcia Lorca

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gulls

do not know where the gulls have their nests, where

find peace.

I am like them,

in perpetual flight. The life of the pool

like being the water to catch food.

And as you may also love the quiet,

the great calm of the sea,

but my fate is to live

flashing in the storm.

Vincenzo Cardarelli