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happy who ...

Felice those with wings vigorous
back on the boredom and the vast sorrows that oppress with weight
the misty life
rises to serene and luminous fields! Happy thoughts
whistle as larks
in free flight to the skies in the morning!
Happy is he who, simple, hovering life and will
the language of flowers and silent things!


Baudelaire

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rain is already with us

Even the rain is with us,
shakes up the quiet air.
Swallows skim the waters off
at the lakes of Lombardy,
fly like gulls on small fish;
hay smells over the fences of the gardens.
Another year has blown,
without complaint, without a cry raised
to win all of a sudden one day.

Salvatore Quasimodo

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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