In his early writing years, he worked on translations (translating texts from classical works, such as Horace and sections of the Odyssey. In Florence, he met Alessandro Manzoni. There, he made some solid and lasting friendships, paid a visit to Giordani and met the historian Pietro Colletta. In 1828 (physically infirm and worn out by work), he had to refuse the offer of a professorship (at Bonn or Berlin), which was made by the ambassador of Prussia in Rome and he had to abandon his work and return to Recanati. He moved to Naples (near his friend Antonio Ranieri), where he hoped to benefit physically from the climate. Maybe by pulmonary edema, he died in 1837.
THE INFINITE – Always dear to me was this hill and this hedge, which for much of the last horizon excludes the gaze. But as I sit and gaze, boundless spaces beyond that, and superhuman silences, and deepest quiet, I thought I pretend in; if just for the heart is overwhelmed. And as I hear the wind rustling through the trees I that infinite silence to this entry comparing I go: and I am reminded of the eternal and the dead seasons, and the present and alive, and the sound of it. So in this immensity my thought is drowned: and sweet to shipwreck in this sea.
I HERE WANDERING – I here wandering around the edge, in vain I invoke the rain and storm, so that it deems to my stay. The wind roars in the forest, and rumbles through the clouds wandering thunder, before dawn in the sky was awakened. O dear clouds, or the sky, the earth and plants, she leaves my woman: pity, if it finds mercy in the world an unhappy lover. Or turbines, or wakes you up, or you try to submerge, or clouds, so long as the sun to other lands in the day renewed. Opens the sky, it falls on the breath, in every song posan the herbs and leaves, and dazzles me the lights raw Sole crying pregnant.
TO THE MOON – O lovely moon, I remember that, or turns the year, over this hill I came full of anguish to gaze at you: and you were then suspended on that forest since or do, that all the clearing up. But nebulous and tremulous with tears that I stood on the edge, to my eyes your face will appear open, which was difficult my life: and it is, or changes his style, or my beloved moon. And while it should be a memorial to me, and remember the summer of my pain. Oh how grateful it is necessary in the youth time, even when on the hope and has short memory the course, the remembrance of things past, even that sad, and that the hard wheezing!
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