Meeting Benches World art in all forms
I BELIEVE, THROUGH A WHISPERING
This is languorous ecstasy,
This is the love fatigue,
This is all the thrills of wood
Among the embrace breezes,
This is, to the gray branches,
The chorus of little voices.
O frail and fresh murmur!
This twitters and whispers,
It looks like the soft cry
The rough grass expires …
You say under water ledge,
The dull roll stones.
This soul laments
Standing in this complaint,
This is ours, is not it?
Mine, say, and yours,
Which exhales the humble antiphon
On this warm evening, so low?
HE CRIES IN MY HEART
He cries in my heart
As it rains on the city,
What is this languor
That penetrates my heart?
O sweet sound of rain
Ground and on the roofs!
For a heart bored,
Oh the song of the rain!
He cries for no reason
In this heart sickened.
What! no treason?
This mourning is without reason.
This is the worst pain
Not know why,
Without love and hate,
My heart has so much pain!
IT IS NECESSARY, YOU SEE, WE FORGIVE THINGS
It is necessary, you see, we forgive things
In this way we will be happy
And if our life gloomy moments
At least we will be, is not it? two mourners.
Oh we mêlions, we are soulmates,
In our confused wishes childish sweetness
To walk away from women and men,
In fresh forgetting what we exile!
Let two children, let two girls
Loving anything and everything surprised,
Who go pale under the chaste hedges,
Without even knowing that they are forgiven.
O SAD, SAD WAS MY SOUL
O sad, sad was my soul
Because, because of a woman.
I am not comforted
Although my heart was is gone.
Although my heart, although my soul
Had fled away from this woman.
I am not comforted,
Although my heart was is gone.
And my heart, my heart too sensitive
Say to my soul: Is it possible,
Is it possible – it was the –
This exile proud, this sad exile?
My soul said to my heart: I know
Myself, we want this trap
To be present long exiles,
Yet that far gone?
