Al giardino spettrale al lauro muto
De le verdi ghirlande
A la terra autunnale
Un ultimo saluto!
A l’aride pendici
Aspre arrossate nell’estremo sole
Confusa di rumori
Rauchi grida la lontana vita:
Grida al morente sole
Che insanguina le aiole.
S’intende una fanfara
Che straziante sale: il fiume spare
Ne le arene dorate: nel silenzio
Stanno le bianche statue a capo i ponti
Volte: e le cose già non sono più.
E dal fondo silenzio come un coro
Tenero e grandioso
Sorge ed anela in alto al mio balcone:
E in aroma d’alloro,
In aroma d’alloro acre languente,
Tra le statue immortali nel tramonto
Ella m’appar, presente.
Quite possibly, but French is my only foreign language.
Autumn is over the long leaves that love us,
And over the mice in the barley sheaves;
Yellow the leaves of the rowan above us,
And yellow the wet wild-strawberry leaves.
The hour of the waning of love has beset us,
And weary and worn are our sad souls now;
Let us part, ere the season of passion forget us,
With a kiss and a tear on thy drooping brow.
I do think Yeats was on to something with that phrasing "the long leaves that love us" - but then I've always been mad about alliteration...
Alliteration is very cool. When I'm writing verse I'm always particularly pleased if a bit of alliteration works its way in.
I'm not sure what he means by "long leaves that loves us" but it's a phrase that sticks in the mind.
Those are very beautiful leaves.
Some sort of maple, I think. Exotic for this part of the world. My parents put in quite a number of exotic trees.
Of course, I can't help but feel they'd be improved with the addition of a bunny or two. =:)