"Small, when a drunkard's song
reached my ear in the night,
I would leap up from my books.
As if drawn from myself, I would fling open
the closed room to the night air
and lean out of the window
to drink the song like a strong wine.
With what eyes, turning, I would look
at the room and the house
where all the lights were already out!
More than once on the cold slate
to the wind that passed through my hair
to the rain that lashed my face
I poured senseless tears.
Now that deception too has fallen.
Now I know how arid is the mouth
that sings wide open to the sky.
Yet if that drunkard's song still wakes me in the night
along the street
I rise to listen with stifled
breath in my throat
and still run to put my face
in the wind that ruffles my hair.
I would like to renew the bitter intoxication
and that subtle shiver through my body;
the well-lost thing I no longer believe in
to weep as I did then...
But only strained, foolish tears
come out now."
Created by d'Araprì