Ugo Foscolo (1778 - 1827 / Italy)
To The Night
Maybe because you always have appeared
The image of that fatal rest to me,
O night! You come towards me so dear!
Escorted by the summer clouds with glee
And by the gentle breezes full of cheer,
Or from the snowy air you come sending
That long, uneasy darkness to the world,
O summoned night, upon the earth descending,
The darkest secrets of my heart you hold.
At sight of you my mind begins to wander
To the eternal void beyond the sky;
And all along the wretched time meanders
And with it all my worries; meanwhile I
Stand looking at your peace that calms the torment
Within my raging spirit lying dormant.
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