JOHN PASCOLI -
And the night flowers open,
In the hour that I think of my dear ones.
They appeared in the midst of violets
Twilight butterflies.
For a while the shouts were silent:
There is only a whispering house.
Under the wings sleep the nests,
As the eyes under the lashes.
Open cups are exhaled
The smell of red strawberries.
There is a light there in the room.
The grass grows over the pits.
A late beard whispers
Finding already taken the cells.
The Blue Azion Chiocciola
He goes with his peal of stars.
Throughout the night she is exhaled
The smell that passes through the wind.
It lights up on the ladder;
Shines on the first floor: it is off. . .
It's dawn: petals close
A little gutted; She hunts,
Inside the soft and secret urn,
I do not know new happiness.
