Joan Miro The thrush
Giacomo Leopardi (Recanati, 1798 - Naples, 1837)
D'
on the summit of the ancient tower,
Thrush, Singin 'in the campaign
go until the day more;
Ed wanders the harmony for this valley. Spring round
shines in the air, and they rejoiced fields, so that on
mirarla touches the core.
Odi bleating flocks, bellowing herds
Other birds happy to race together for the free sky
fan thousand revolutions,
While celebrating their best time: You
pensive on the sidelines all intended;
no companions, no flights
Do not you care for fun, Dodge amusements;
songs, and so transitions
year and your life the most beautiful flower.
Alas, how your costume looks
At my! Sollazzo and rice, sweet family
Della young age, and you
German youth, love, bitter sigh
de 'experienced days
do not care, I do not know how, and indeed they
Almost flee away;
Almost hermit, and strange
In my native place,
Pass my life in the spring.
ch'omai This day gives way to night,
Celebrate is the custom in our village.
Listen to the peaceful sound of a ringing,
Odi often a thunderclap of iron rods,
That echoes far away from town to town.
All dressed up the place
youth leave their homes, and in the streets is spreading, and is targeted
and aims, and in my heart rejoices.
I alone in this remote paths
part in the coming campaign, pleasure and play every
delay any longer: and meanwhile look
Lying in the air I aprica
beasts from the Sun that far mountains,
After day peaceful,
Falling vanishes, and
seems to say that the blessed youth faints.
You, solitary little bird, who came to Del
evening that will live for you the stars, of course, your costume
Dorrao not you, that nature is the result of your
Any vagueness.
To me, if you hated the threshold of old age
Do not implore,
silent when others' eyes these cores, and their
FIA vote, the world, and the future of day
this most boring and dismal, that Parr
of this desire? Which of these years my
? that of myself? Ah
pentirornmi, and often,
But sadly, volgerommi back.
Copacabana 2005 - Bird 
