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Palinodia

TO THE MARQUIS GINO CAPPONI.

I was mistaken, my dear Gino. Long

And greatly have I erred. I fancied life

A vain and wretched thing, and this, our age,

Now passing, vainest, silliest of all.

Intolerable seemed, and _was_, such talk

Unto the happy race of mortals, if,

Indeed, man ought or could be mortal called.

by Count Giacomo Leopardi

The Dream

It was the morning; through the shutters closed,

Along the balcony, the earliest rays

Of sunlight my dark room were entering;

When, at the time that sleep upon our eyes

Its softest and most grateful shadows casts,

There stood beside me, looking in my face,

The image dear of her, who taught me first

To love, then left me to lament her loss.

by Count Giacomo Leopardi

On Dante's Monument, 1818

Though all the nations now

Peace gathers under her white wings,

The minds of Italy will ne'er be free

From the restraints of their old lethargy,

Till our ill-fated land cling fast

Unto the glorious memories of the Past.

Oh, lay it to thy heart, my Italy,

Fit honor to thy dead to pay;

by Count Giacomo Leopardi

Aspasia

At times thy image to my mind returns,

Aspasia. In the crowded streets it gleams

Upon me, for an instant, as I pass,

In other faces; or in lonely fields,

At noon-tide bright, beneath the silent stars,

With sudden and with startling vividness,

As if awakened by sweet harmony,

The splendid vision rises in my soul.

by Count Giacomo Leopardi

The Setting Of The Moon

As, in the lonely night,

Above the silvered fields and streams

Where zephyr gently blows,

And myriad objects vague,

Illusions, that deceive,

Their distant shadows weave

Amid the silent rills,

The trees, the hedges, villages, and hills;

by Count Giacomo Leopardi

First Love

Ah, well can I the day recall, when first

The conflict fierce of love I felt, and said:

If _this_ be love, how hard it is to bear!

With eyes still fixed intent upon the ground,

I saw but _her_, whose artless innocence,

Triumphant took possession of this heart.

Ah, Love, how badly hast thou governed me!

Why should affection so sincere and pure,

by Count Giacomo Leopardi

The Ginestra,

OR THE FLOWER OF THE WILDERNESS.

Here, on the arid ridge

Of dead Vesuvius,

Exterminator terrible,

That by no other tree or flower is cheered,

Thou scatterest thy lonely leaves around,

O fragrant flower,

With desert wastes content. Thy graceful stems

by Count Giacomo Leopardi

The Evening Of The Holiday

The night is mild and clear, and without wind,

And o'er the roofs, and o'er the gardens round

The moon shines soft, and from afar reveals

Each mountain-peak serene. O lady, mine,

Hushed now is every path, and few and dim

The lamps that glimmer through the balconies.

Thou sleepest! in thy quiet rooms, how light

And easy is thy sleep! No care thy heart

by Count Giacomo Leopardi

Calm After Storm

The storm hath passed;

I hear the birds rejoice; the hen,

Returned into the road again,

Her cheerful notes repeats. The sky serene

Is, in the west, upon the mountain seen:

The country smiles; bright runs the silver stream.

Each heart is cheered; on every side revive

The sounds, the labors of the busy hive.

by Count Giacomo Leopardi

To Himself

Nor wilt thou rest forever, weary heart.

The last illusion is destroyed,

That I eternal thought. Destroyed!

I feel all hope and all desire depart,

For life and its deceitful joys.

Forever rest! Enough! Thy throbbings cease!

Naught can requite thy miseries;

Nor is earth worthy of thy sighs.

by Count Giacomo Leopardi

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!

by Count Giacomo Leopardi

To Italy (1818)

My country, I the walls, the arches see,

The columns, statues, and the towers

Deserted, of our ancestors;

But, ah, the glory I do not behold,

The laurel and the sword, that graced

Our sires of old.

Now, all unarmed, a naked brow,

A naked breast dost thou display.

by Count Giacomo Leopardi