Imitation.

    Wandering from the parent bough,
    Little, trembling leaf,
    Whither goest thou?
    "From the beech, where I was born,
    By the north wind was I torn.
    Him I follow in his flight,
    Over mountain, over vale,
    From the forest to the plain,
    Up the hill, and down again.
    With him ever on the way:
    More than that, I cannot say.
    Where I go, must all things go,
    Gentle, simple, high and low:
    Leaves of laurel, leaves of rose;
    Whither, heaven only knows!"

Giacomo Leopardi

Giacomo Leopardi was an Italian philosopher, poet, essayist, and philologist. Born in Recanati into a noble family, he is often considered the greatest Italian poet of the 19th century. Leopardi's works are noted for their pessimism and philosophical depth, exploring existential themes such as suffering, the nature of happiness, and the human condition. His notable works include the collection "Canti" and the philosophical dialogue "Operette morali." He died young at the age of 38 in Naples.

Giacomo Leopardi

To Angelo Mai, On His Discovery Of The Lost Books Of Cicero, "De Republica."

Giacomo Leopardi, Simple Poetry

The Lonely Sparrow.

Giacomo Leopardi, Simple Poetry

The Evening Of The Holiday.

Giacomo Leopardi, Simple Poetry

Aspasia.

Giacomo Leopardi, Simple Poetry

English

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The Lonely Sparrow.

    Thou from the top of yonder antique tower,
    O lonely sparrow, wandering, hast gone,
    Thy song repeating till the day is done,
    And through this valley strays the harmony.
    How Spring rejoices in the fields around,
    And fills the air with light,
    So that the heart is melted at the sight!
    Hark to the bleating flocks, the lowing herds!
    In sweet content, the other birds
    Through the free sky in emulous circles wheel,
    In pure enjoyment of their happy time:
    Thou, pensive, gazest on the scene apart,
    Nor wilt thou join them in the merry round;
    Shy playmate, thou for mirth hast little heart;
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Giacomo Leopardi

Longing.

What pulls at my heart so?

What tells me to roam?
What drags me and lures me

From chamber and home?
How round the cliffs gather

The clouds high in air!
I fain would go thither,

I fain would be there!

The sociable flight

Of the ravens comes back;
I mingle amongst them,

And follow their track.
Round wall and round mountain

Together we fly;
She tarries below there,

I after her spy.

Then onward she wanders,

My flight I wing soon
To the wood fill'd with bushes,

A bird of sweet tune.
She tarries and hearkens,

And smiling, thinks she:
"How sweetly he's singing!

He's singing to me!"

The heights are illum'd

By the fast setting sun...

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Night Song Of A Wandering Shepherd In Asia.

    What doest thou in heaven, O moon?
    Say, silent moon, what doest thou?
    Thou risest in the evening; thoughtfully
    Thou wanderest o'er the plain,
    Then sinkest to thy rest again.
    And art thou never satisfied
    With going o'er and o'er the selfsame ways?
    Art never wearied? Dost thou still
    Upon these valleys love to gaze?
    How much thy life is like
    The shepherd's life, forlorn!
    He rises in the early dawn,
    He moves his flock along the plain;
    The selfsame flocks, and streams, and herbs
    He sees again;
    Then drops to rest, the day's work o'er;
    And hopes for nothing more.
    Tell me, O moon, what signifies his life
    To him, thy life to thee? Say, whither tend
    My weary, short-lived pilgr...

Giacomo Leopardi

The River

And I behold once more
My old familiar haunts; here the blue river,
The same blue wonder that my infant eye
Admired, sage doubting whence the traveller came,--
Whence brought his sunny bubbles ere he washed
The fragrant flag-roots in my father's fields,
And where thereafter in the world he went.
Look, here he is, unaltered, save that now
He hath broke his banks and flooded all the vales
With his redundant waves.
Here is the rock where, yet a simple child,
I caught with bended pin my earliest fish,
Much triumphing,--and these the fields
Over whose flowers I chased the butterfly
A blooming hunter of a fairy fine.
And hark! where overhead the ancient crows
Hold their sour conversation in the sky:--
These are the same, but I am not the same,
But wiser th...

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Sestina V.

Alia dolce ombra de le belle frondi.

HE TELLS THE STORY OF HIS LOVE, RESOLVING HENCEFORTH TO DEVOTE HIMSELF TO GOD.


    Beneath the pleasant shade of beauteous leaves
I ran for shelter from a cruel light,
E'en here below that burnt me from high heaven,
When the last snow had ceased upon the hills,
And amorous airs renew'd the sweet spring time,
And on the upland flourish'd herbs and boughs.

Ne'er did the world behold such graceful boughs,
Nor ever wind rustled so verdant leaves,
As were by me beheld in that young time:
So that, though fearful of the ardent light,
I sought not refuge from the shadowing hills,
But of the plant accepted most in heaven.

A laurel then protected from that heaven:
Whence, oft enamour'd with its lovely ...

Francesco Petrarca

The Lonely Life.

    The morning rain, when, from her coop released,
    The hen, exulting, flaps her wings, when from
    The balcony the husbandman looks forth,
    And when the rising sun his trembling rays
    Darts through the falling drops, against my roof
    And windows gently beating, wakens me.
    I rise, and grateful, bless the flying clouds,
    The cheerful twitter of the early birds,
    The smiling fields, and the refreshing air.
    For I of you, unhappy city walls,
    Enough have seen and known; where hatred still
    Companion is to grief; and grieving still
    I live, and so shall die, and that, how soon!
    But here some pity Nature shows, though small,
    Once in this spot to me so courteous!
    Thou, too, O Nature, turn'st away thy gaze
    From mis...

Giacomo Leopardi