Simples

Simples

 

O bella bionda,

Sei come l'onda!

Of cool sweet dew and radiance mild

The moon a web of silence weaves

In the still garden where a child

Gathers the simple salad leaves.

A moondew stars her hanging hair

And moonlight kisses her young brow

And, gathering, she sings an air:

Fair as the wave is, fair, art thou!

Be mine, I pray, a waxen ear

To shield me from her childish croon

And mine a shielded heart for her

Who gathers simples of the moon.

 

Trieste 1914 ©

 

P97

 

Done