.
The stars were shining with golden light
as I stood alone by the window
and listened to the distant sound
of the posthorn in the still countryside.
My heart became inflamed in my body,
and I thought secretly to myself:
Ah, if only I could journey with them
into that magnificent summer night!
.
Two young men were walking
past on the slope of the mountain,
and I heard them singing as they walked along
in the quiet area:
of vertiginous, rocky gullies
where the woods rustle so gently;
of springs that rush out from the clefts
into the night of the woods.
.
They sang of marble statues,
of gardens that grew wild upon stones
in dusky groves;
of palaces in the moonlight
where maidens listen by the windows
when the strum of lutes awakens them;
and of fountains murmuring sleepily
in the magnificent summer night.
.
Proserpine
1874
Gabriel Rossetti
.
Night is like a quiet sea:
joy and sorrow and the laments of love
become tangled up
in the gentle throbbing of the waves.
.
Desires are like clouds
that sail through the quiet space:
who can recognize in the mild wind
whether they are thoughts or dreams?
.
Even if my heart and mouth now are closed,
that once so easily lamented to the stars,
still, at the bottom of my heart
there remains the gentle throbbing of those waves.
.
.
.
.
.
.