X August
Giovanni Pascoli
San Lorenzo, I know why so much
of stars for the quiet air
burns and falls, because it is in great grief
concave sky sparkles. A swallow was returning
the roof
killed him: he fell among thorns;
she had an insect in its beak:
dinner of its swallows.
Now is there, as the cross, which tends
that worm to the distant sky;
and her nest is in the shadows, waiting,
chirping ever slower.
Even a man returned to his nest:
killed him: he said: Forgiveness;
remained open eyes and a cry
carrying two dolls as a gift.
Now there, in the remote house, the
waiting, waiting in vain: he
motionless, astonished, points
the dolls to the distant sky.
And you, Heaven, from the worlds
serene, infinite, immortal,
oh! tears of the stars of this atom, opaque
flood of Evil!
