ROSE BUSH
Rose bush, which dall'irta rama
not laugh at the sight Montanina
ditty that goes by and you call
rose hips;
if subtle hand misses your flowers,
do not complain of your fortune
envy rose centofoglie
seize a
to one: the cold wind whistles
that burned off the leaves one by one, fraught with the
Rosebush will swing slow without
a berry;
berry but you will shine in mourning
gray winter, the flowers bloom year
new to some withered fruit
smile:
and you, over time, grew amazed at what
'dawn exercised even slight
with his ditty, and ascend outline
perhaps one evening.
Giovanni Pascoli (1891-1911 Myricae)
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