To The Moon.

    O lovely moon, how well do I recall
    The time, - 'tis just a year - when up this hill
    I came, in my distress, to gaze at thee:
    And thou suspended wast o'er yonder grove,
    As now thou art, which thou with light dost fill.
    But stained with mist, and tremulous, appeared
    Thy countenance to me, because my eyes
    Were filled with tears, that could not be suppressed;
    For, oh, my life was wretched, wearisome,
    And is so still, unchanged, belovèd moon!
    And yet this recollection pleases me,
    This computation of my sorrow's age.
    How pleasant is it, in the days of youth,
    When hope a long career before it hath,
    And memories are few, upon the past
    To dwell, though sad, and though the sadness last!

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

Calm After Storm.

Giacomo Leopardi, Simple Poetry

The Ruling Thought.

Giacomo Leopardi, Simple Poetry

To Sylvia.

Giacomo Leopardi, Simple Poetry

To A Victor In The Game Of Pallone.

Giacomo Leopardi, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

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

To The Moon.

Bush and vale thou fill'st again

With thy misty ray,
And my spirit's heavy chain

Castest far away.

Thou dost o'er my fields extend

Thy sweet soothing eye,
Watching like a gentle friend,

O'er my destiny.

Vanish'd days of bliss and woe

Haunt me with their tone,
Joy and grief in turns I know,

As I stray alone.

Stream beloved, flow on! flow on!

Ne'er can I be gay!
Thus have sport and kisses gone,

Truth thus pass'd away.

Once I seem'd the lord to be

Of that prize so fair!
Now, to our deep sorrow, we

Can forget it ne'er.

Murmur, stream, the vale along,

Never cease thy sighs;
Murmur, whisper to my song

Answering melodies!

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Ode To The Moon.

I.

Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go
Over those hoary crests, divinely led! -
Art thou that huntress of the silver bow,
Fabled of old? Or rather dost thou tread
Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below,
Like the wild Chamois from her Alpine snow,
Where hunter never climb'd, - secure from dread?
How many antique fancies have I read
Of that mild presence! and how many wrought!
Wondrous and bright,
Upon the silver light,
Chasing fair figures with the artist, Thought!


II.

What art thou like? - Sometimes I see thee ride
A far-bound galley on its perilous way,
Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray; -
Sometimes behold thee glide,
Cluster'd by all thy family of stars,
Like a lone widow, through the welkin wide,<...

Thomas Hood

Once I Could Hail

"Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone
Wi' the auld moone in hir arme."
'Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, Percy's Reliques.'


Once I could hail (howe'er serene the sky)
The Moon re-entering her monthly round,
No faculty yet given me to espy
The dusky Shape within her arms imbound,
That thin memento of effulgence lost
Which some have named her Predecessor's ghost.

Young, like the Crescent that above me shone,
Nought I perceived within it dull or dim;
All that appeared was suitable to One
Whose fancy had a thousand fields to skim;
To expectations spreading with wild growth,
And hope that kept with me her plighted troth.

I saw (ambition quickening at the view)
A silver boat launched on a boundless flood;
A pearly crest, like Dian's when...

William Wordsworth

To The Moon - Composed By The Seaside, On The Coast Of Cumberland

Wanderer! that stoop'st so low, and com'st so near
To human life's unsettled atmosphere;
Who lov'st with Night and Silence to partake,
So might it seem, the cares of them that wake;
And, through the cottage-lattice softly peeping,
Dost shield from harm the humblest of the sleeping;
What pleasure once encompassed those sweet names
Which yet in thy behalf the Poet claims,
An idolizing dreamer as of yore!
I slight them all; and, on this sea-beat shore
Sole-sitting, only can to thoughts attend
That bid me hail thee as the Sailor's friend;
So call thee for heaven's grace through thee made known
By confidence supplied and mercy shown,
When not a twinkling star or beacon's light
Abates the perils of a stormy night;
And for less obvious benefits, that find
Their ...

William Wordsworth

To The Moon - Rydal

Queen of the stars! so gentle, so benign,
That ancient Fable did to thee assign,
When darkness creeping o'er thy silver brow
Warned thee these upper regions to forego,
Alternate empire in the shades below
A Bard, who, lately near the wide-spread sea
Traversed by gleaming ships, looked up to thee
With grateful thoughts, doth now thy rising hail
From the close confines of a shadowy vale.
Glory of night, conspicuous yet serene,
Nor less attractive when by glimpses seen
Through cloudy umbrage, well might that fair face,
And all those attributes of modest grace,
In days when Fancy wrought unchecked by fear,
Down to the green earth fetch thee from thy sphere,
To sit in leafy woods by fountains clear!

O still beloved (for thine, meek Power, are charms
That...

William Wordsworth