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yourtinseltinkerbellvia http://ift.tt/2EAMz2a:
“She sits at his hearth,
and they listen to the wind carry
from the hills a sound of pipe,
and they search the distance if still
the sickle moon sparkles on the quivering sea.
And her heart glistens in the darkness
nor does it yet darken it with doubts
like yours does, Dianora.
For doesn’t she know that Love is like a breath of breeze on
a sonorous lyre,”
- Luisa Giaconi, from “Dianora,” A Selection of Modern Italian Poetry in Translation edited by Roberta L. Payne (McGill-Queen’s University Press , 2004)
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“She sits at his hearth,
and they listen to the wind carry
from the hills a sound of pipe,
and they search the distance if still
the sickle moon sparkles on the quivering sea.
And her heart glistens in the darkness
nor does it yet darken it with doubts
like yours does, Dianora.
For doesn’t she know that Love is like a breath of breeze on
a sonorous lyre,”
- Luisa Giaconi, from “Dianora,” A Selection of Modern Italian Poetry in Translation edited by Roberta L. Payne (McGill-Queen’s University Press , 2004)
(Your picture was not posted)