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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