GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO

NEW SONG
Votive Offering
Ciprìde, Meleager of Gadara dressed in a crocus,
belt of violets or marine rush,
the last of the Grazie son that he gave to love
come lightly, like a light garment,
I will dedicate to you in the temple one day your sweet lamp,
confidant of his games, of his loves,
witness of her secret watchings when
she loosened the soft hair of Eliodora.
I on your altar do not, like the Syriac, a sweet
lamp I place in hope, memory of pleasures;
But a very sad lamp breaks today finally not without
ira, O Cyprus: the one that illuminated my
pale-faced, she leans over pale books for a long time
order of nights, while the Earth and the Sea
they raised their infinite pleasure to the heavens,
small of you, o great Cyprus, o Anadiomene!
Today, at last, I will break you with both hands.
I am on the altar, O great Cyprian, O Anadiomene.
Let your fiery spirit ignite the young blood; let it shine.
on the arduous brow, unique lamp, the Sun.

SONG OF THE SUN

Here, and the marine glauca awakens
fresh to extremely fresh winds; it beats:
she feels in her womb
the green loves of the alighe.
They brush against her in swarms, the querulous ones.
seagulls, similar from afar pass
the tawny and black sails
As the great sun sets;
and in a wide circle in the water the flourishing ones
reflecting slopes appear as images
the pyramids won
from the triumph of the laurel.
Thalatta! Thalatta! We fly, we leap
from the young heart, a little spring
your brief pirrichii,
O divine Asclepius!
O Sea, O glory, strength of Italy
at last, free your waves to the air
like a tempered steel
Youth shines!

Song of the sun, 2

O final, burning name, to you the soul
Open up! The forehead given to glory
of rays, oh beautiful name, I smile
but feeling myself invigorated.
You watch, oh sun: throughout all being
I spread a new vigor; quickly,
I feel, gurgling and red
the origins of life.

Song of the sun, 3

Oh books, the classical sun - Apollonian
Febo - an innumerable smile
spreads over the waters, and ignites me
a flame of joy in the heart.
Goodbye, of various very long books
cohorts! farewell, dark army
of books in the frigid nights
Fill the room with larvae!
Fatherly auspice Horace
she was watching over us; but not a vase
he infused it in old cecubo
new vigor of dates to the verse.
He/she poured the tea, spreading the indigo.
effluents drink: the saffron stanzas
in deep and even murmur
they swayed like the leaves,
lens of dreams to the tired soul
advisers... Oh like Lilia
marble shines not in the cold
purity of the great sparkling eyes!
as from a cold wreath of laurel
the Chinese front felt me twist!
Who came, oh volumes, who came
to disturb the peaceful vigils?
A white daughter of Fiesole came,
tall and slender, like those who crafted it
they sculpted her in sweet alabaster
and I will think of her on golden tablets.
He came, and of strange bonds of ivy
she, with the long, wavy hair;
trembling the mouth offered me
I drank a vital liquor
what time circulates for every vein,
like the new sap in the tree,
so that I believe for every
everything comes from the heart to bloom again.
From the heart I remember them
impatient the verses. Oh clear
widespread haze in the skies
Oh, the dream of Dante opened!
The dawns wandered in the dreams.
of Beatrice; the virgin exiles
of Brother Giovanni and of Mino
they were smiling on the blonde evenings;
they awoke as if they were dreaming
the ballad of Guido, the languid
sonnet by Cino, the eighth
melodious of Poliziano.
"I look" perhaps groaned in the air
what kind of gentle spirit of Pistoia
"I watch" twin "through the meadows"
every white flower for remembrance...
Clear and silent is the water of the Affrico
through the new grass flowed: the streams
subtle on the green banks
without a trembling whisper, in line;
without a voice in a trembling line
the poplars were rising to the sky of pearl
the branches, tall silver rods
on which bright emeralds shone.
And we passed through hand in hand.
on the new grass, long are the banks
we climbed the beautiful hill,
and we lingered in the familiar places.
Oh sweet stop there among the ashes
Olive! A warm wind was blowing,
my long snow-covered appeared
the first peaks of Casentino.
The beautiful city in its marvelous
the basin shone like in a chalice
deep a gem; and to our eyes
her beauty seemed a secret
when it casts a shadow like from a marriage bed
we will admire her unaware
with eyes veiled by the long
languor of kisses, from slow oblivion.
Kisses now burning in memory!
Pur (do you remember?) the sparrows were making.
a happy omen, in Montughi,
in the cypress trees with their clamors.
And wishing they did not hint
the poplars towards me on the swift
fleeing convoy at sunset
the very green Tuscan land?
But when, trembling poplars, smile
when you will see through the gray veil
from the smoke the beautiful face of her
traveler to my Sannite sky?
Then on my high prow in the evening
she will shine like a golden light
Hope, and my red sails
inflated with joy on the sea.
Then with a stronger and freer wing
the verses, eroded on the precordia,
then with the wild seagulls
they will fly over the sea over the sea.

Song of the Sun, 4

Now to me the serene rhythm of Albius Tibullus, where it laughs
the immense peace of the blooming countryside,
"the azure skies of Latin and the sun"
flavi and the clouds like in a clear river!
They ask the long hexameter rising the ghosts
that on the bare heart they bloom,
and the harmonic wave spirals in the short pentameter
in a languid mood of dates.
Oh fresh flowing from the divine womb of the waters
May dawn among the salty scent of the seaweed,
I sail through the gulf just like a good Samnite sailor.
playful dolphins, flock to the dear muses;
I sail, and sitting at the bow I watch you thinking
the love of a goddess with a mortal, at the very bottom.
They run through groves of red corals, the weddings,
down through the lively woods runs spring;
run... Oh triumphs of sea anemones up on the rocks,
similar to the petals of a new flower!
flowered prairies of astrèe, of madrèpore! locks
floating jellyfish with a gentle gurgle!
great music has the earthly woods, great hymns;
for these mute weddings are worth a hymn: love!
Love in deep silence, enjoy the arcane
marriage, oh wonderful creatures; and I
descend into the deep mystery to unite me in joy
with the Immortal, I am splendid like a deity.
But here is the sun, the sun! It shatters the beautiful marine dream.
In the dream, the glaucous chamber vanishes.
Purples are the sails; crimson glows of fire
upon the concave skies they blaze,
here, and the sun triumphs... O fresh tremors of the waters
sparkling amber and topaz!
the new trembling of the trees on the hills
at the wide wing of the mistral, I hear you
in the throbbing heart, in the nerves, in the blood, and a verse
and every shudder, a divine verse
which flies to the immense poem of all things.
Io - I cry within a voice - am I not then a god?

Song of the sun, 5

A pale golden horn
the greenish sky shines. They sigh
the tides: - it is the new moon;
love, oh strong young ones, the virgins
oceanine! - They blow
at times the humid winds, sigh
the waters: - either young men, or virgins,
It is the new moon of May; love each other!
A silver semicircle
hang on blue mountains that appear
prone dead athletes.
They say the petals in sleep: - oh zephyrs
gentle, pregnant with pollen,
fresh! oh freshest dews! oh fervent
love of a dragonfly!
In sleep, the drooping petals awaken.
A shining tiara
from the sky radiates the waters of gems
faville; at the back the alighe
destate anelano un raggio. Un pallido
the ray reaches them; they look
the melancholies up for the mirror.
Wind - the wings pray -
Oh, dates beating at the sea! Give yourself to me!...
A great iron sickle
by the sidereal mass to fall back.
Foschi in the peninsula
The woods sway. The dryads sing.
From the roots the tremors
From love to the ultimate peaks they pass.
Oh night of nuptials!
Naked in the bark, the dryads sing.
The moon like an anchor
the infranta glimmers in the violet
sky background. Stranie
Voices for the breeze are coming. - Oh my!
Oh fisherman, hoist!
- they ammonish. - It is the new moon;
the Siren a trap
sweet and terrible prepares: caress!
A large Amazonian arch
of copper lightning among vast clouds;
stop the boat has the anchor
at the bottom; motionless at the stern I watch.
Nor did the fish bite me
the bait, but constant the desire
the waiting heart, bite me,
sweet and terrible enemy. And I am vigilant!

Song of the Sun, 6

From the Argentina return of the clouds
oblique rays of sunlight illustrate
the summits of the Maiella,
the hills in a circular gradient towards the sea.
A fresh crackling propagated
in the countryside: they shiver
the trunks from the roots
under the spring rain,
here, and the tips of the great with trepidation
joy from the vigilant furrows adhere
the hope of the flourishing art
all gold to the canicular rays
when the rich wave stipulates
they will protect courteous, at evening
to the dawn, the snare of love
against the beautiful starlings.

Song of the Sun, 7

The great noon stands over this of waves and plants
greenish-blue solitary basin:
and I, like the ancient faun in ambush, hide myself
sacred banana, who among your branches.
When will I see the nymph come with timid steps,
closed in her hair the agile naked body?
Oh suddenly, perhaps, in the hard yard that I tread
I will feel her, gentle flesh, resuming heartbeat?
Anxiety holds me, while the sun to the leaves and to the waves
all his gold is countless.
I fall a shining rain of shards and scales
on the head where the image shines clear.
They look like waves, beneath, lascivious azure snakes
jokers with fresh shouts on the gravel.
I am flooded with a blood I do not know what panic ecstasy
the sour smells mixed with saltiness.
But who then of steps and voices and laughter far away
do the echoes of the green domes move you?
Certainly the ancient dryads live again.
neither trunks nor a dryad do I hold in my arms.
- O beautiful dryad, o dear to Menalus, o blonde
of Cintia student, very strong lover,
break from the bark, bare the mortal limbs:
agile I am, strong is my youth.
Break from the bark; and make my burning hands
put me in your flesh like in a fresh stream;
let it be that from your pure mouth I with an infinite sip
drink in the breath of the immense forest;
that in your green eyes, like Narcissus in the spring,
my new beauty transformed I gaze at;
Oh, let the young man live in the world once again.
like a mighty god in his fairy tale!

Song of the Sun, 8

Oh you, despot, speak of the purple belt that you watch
on the purple sea, on the flourishing forest,
like a cyclops eye swimming in sleep and wine
from the slow waving of the poppies!
Oh, I love you. The blood shines brightly in the clear chalice.
that for your great virtue in the clusters
it warms on the hills of happy Sannio... Not such,
Tell me, does the hymn of your poets precede it?
do not tell Flacco the undulating Alcaic strophes
when the red dawn smiled at the round face?
Fresh murmurs gave the Digenza among the poplars, and Vacuna
the slow loss in Western vapors.
But you, sea, give other murmurs, other songs; you, hills,
Divinely shipwrecked! And castaways
we too: we are driven by the grecal winds
full of salt and the scents of algae
in the expanse of dreams; slower than soft shores
the verse flows out from the lips, O May,
O flourishing May, you who laugh at the distant houses
of our maiden, may the vain desire awaken.

Song of the sun, 9

The bride and the winds speak in the very fresh forest.
dormant in the vast light of the full moon,
dormant by the sea that is silent. Nearby, the sea is silent.
full of his deep silent distant loves.
The winds speak: - O you who live through the trunks the sap,
What the blood flows for the veins in humans, salt;
you, green athletes, prosthesis the arms to the blue,
down in the other wet earth immersed the foot,
welcome the message! Far away a virgin forest
On the mountain, to the moon, dreams of distant loves.
The winds speak. The forests sleep. Nearby, the sea is silent.
full of its deep distant mute loves.
Do not awaken, leaf, wave. The clouds pass silently.
the sovereign light fading away.
The clouds cradle the embraces of the gods.
sensually fading away.

Chant of the sun, 10

Oh beautiful one, who slows the rhythm of the wonderful loins
among the red plum trees down the daring slope,
high, opening the wild nostrils to the scent of the jungle,
violated by the sun, beautiful singer!
It stops in the shadow. A breath comes from the sirocco.
through olive groves, languidly rising from the sea.
Splendidly blue, the great sea overlooks the olive trees.
gray, silver. Does she smell the scent of salt?
No briny odor arrives; but sharp scents from the wild herbs.
they break beneath the powerful scent.
Enter among the acacias of the damp slope laughing
her; and I chase her down the green thicket.
Atalanta's foot was not so fast. From the branches
cut off a heady perfume bursts;
reddish drops of our blood drips from the branches,
living gems, drawn from the spines;
neither do I know, for the intoxication, which more scents, if the blood
or the sap, the human spirit or the arboreal.
She falls down the slope. It wasn't so fast.
the virgin Scheneia when she threw the dart;
And Aphrodite comes to my aid with the golden apples.
like the burning son of Macareo.
But I finally reach it; my hands in the golden hair
Put it on. - Vittoria! - She twists in vain.
Like a strong sound flame that envelops me completely
I feel her entire beauty in my senses.
It vibrates like a terrible flame as I bend it:
it seems to me that the grass ignites where it falls.
Wonderful fight. Applaud applaud applaud,
like a people at the circus, plants, hills, sea!

Song of the sun, 11

Behold, how splendidly they pass in the sun
the double sails, long, and they get lost
fleeing herons
towards the remote islands!
Like in the clear of your eyes, shipwrecked.
the love of the salty breath of the air,
O beautiful, that I tomorrow
and to us was the grass a marriage bed!
Down in the plain, the young ones dressed in very green
storm waves, the olive trees hint:
it's the plan another sea
of murmurs and shivers.
Green and cerulean waves. And your song
highly it dominates from the hill, nymphs
new, of majorana
redeem the temples.
I do not kiss you, today: in the soul
Today the ghosts of art smile at me.
serene. To me serene
he said Asclepiades the numbers;
and your classic shape in the agile
your stanzas beat like in the pair
ancient bas-relief
a rebellious maenad.

Song of the Sun, 12

But still your winding spirals tempt me,
or winged instruments, a pair of winged little snakes
the one who ruled Ovid with golden reins was a child
of Venus's offspring, fierce beauty of a god.
Loathsome essi: to strike down the sad with darts;
the blood was bubbling out of the wounds.
Rideane the little archer choosing other tips
with an evil ringing, but - Docile!
- the poet pleaded. - Why such war with a god?
He is a student of the Party. Docile, oh my children!
No, I am Ovid, I do not fear the armed child,
I do not trust you, vile tears or lascivious loves,
beloved stanza. I live freely, like balm in the heart
the heart, to the great May, to the great wild song
that pulses in the forest, that pulses in the sea, that rises
on from the green harvest, on from the vineyard in bloom,
how immense it sways through the greenish skies spread out,
banner of effluvia, turbine of pollen,
in the sun in the sun in the sun, exultant ringing
thundering immense voice of a thousand gods.
And is not God in me? The eternal heartbeat of the World
Is this not what makes my mortal heart move?
Aren't the germs of all lives living?
not my human life? I feel the miracle drawing near.
Here, I stretch my limbs in the concave disgust,
I offer to the paternal sun all my naked body.
You cradle me, oh sea, in your infinite breath;
your own sun, the great metamorphosis.
From my limbs, made giant, sprouts a jungle.
The unknown island will emerge for the sailors in the evening.

Votive offer
Votive Offer
Pan, a pomegranate that laughs at its numerous
red smile for half-open lips;
and on the leafy stem a plump one from the wrinkled
tail-skinned navel fig;
It is a ripe olive that is in its brine.
to flavor itself; and without a husk, a fresh walnut;
even a bunch dense with plump black grapes,
like a curly hair of an ephebus: and two
quince, almost twin in golden tunics;
and a cucumber on its leaf; and two
sweet is one that quenches the thirst, bitter the other
it excites the drinker; and some
almonds are so tender that they fear being bitten;
and a pineapple still closed by the tenacious
resin; and good five greasy loaves imbued
on a clear tablet; and somewhat honey
flavor; it is a vessel of pure spikenard; and a cup of clay
from the dual handle, where the goat's milk
anyway; and it is pure wine that was drawn for the spout
prudent without disturbing the barrel:
Bread, these rural offerings you sanctify in the cave of Lamone
arcade and promises you more riches in the meantime
if in the new contest of the flute, oh Pan, may you assist it
and invisible spirits in their quills.
I do not give you the fruits but the seven sharp reeds
sacred, well contoured with fragrant wax.
Long be thou of fruits to me in the brief season:
to my pleasures, Pan, and to the sweet Guest!

Song of the Guest, 1

GUEST ANTE
To the sea, to the sea, Guest, to the free
sea, in the fragrant green Adriatic,
to the sea of poets, to the present
God who tempers my nerves and songs!
From the barren salt, very fresh
the June dawns rise: shivers
shudders ripple the waters;
the forests in bloom sing to the wind,
they sing to the wind epithalamiums,
Guest, do you hear? Beneath the porches
for all the fibers to rise
feel the conquering lymph;
I feel the gem's power bursting forth
long live the strength of the branches, the soul
of the pollen feeling in the souls
ovules descending from the anthers,
here, and happy with all the joys
from the green clouds they spread fragrances
at dawn. With what songs
wonderful replies the sea!
He raises his arms on the sea,
watching the sun draw the wishes;
to our love, Guest, is beneficial
to favor the sea and the sun.
Arrive, oh sun! We too the divine presence
your sacred invaded through every artery:
we are two truncated virgins
give the splendid flower branches.
Smile at me, oh father sea, smile at me
you with love, you with glory,
with stars your strong and serene,
What an adoring gift I bring to you!

Song of the Guest, 2

Do you want, sweet Guest (you who are virginal
one day they reflected the waters of the Affrico!
in the sonnet of Cino
to hear your praises?
or that in the distich one hears the roar
live to you the free hair and little scent
the woods where you follow me
fast as an antelope?
Do you want to ascend (you who have halos
golden the sunsets of Fiesole!
the song that Petrarch
constellation of her tears?
Oh that the archaic breaks from the soul
with a longing for the sea, and agile
pursue your dreams
the Asclepiadean stanza?

Song of the Guest, 3

Which, if the young ones reach triumphs
the sluggish waters ignite with gold,
the vallisneria in the lake
feel the god with a shiver;
and the greedy feminine flowers emerge
on the voluble spirals, to the pollens
to the air in the sun extending
lustful the chalices:
the wedding smiles, auspices sing
along the wild pond the Foehn winds,
but the male flowers in the sun
sadly they float;
story of the soul, for within the gem.
brightness of your irides, with an impetus
of new youth
my desire comes out;
and to your flexible antelope flank
having my arms, and to your trembling
mouth longing for love
having my mouth trembling:
The kisses spark, chills run.
long for the intimate veins, but rigid
at your feet the verses
With Ali, they fall!

Song of the Guest, 4

For you, the eclogue blooms into leisure.
in the afternoon, among the saltiness
of marine winds, among the chirps,
in a grove of orange trees in bloom;
for you the golden fruits glimmer
between the dark green, in the Adriatic
far away a swarm is lost
of red sails, silence the shores,
Guest, and I see upon your pale
sudden surge to open the chalices
the rosy flower of desire,
in her hazel eyes, the sun laughs,
I open my mouth, similar to
to a succulent fruit... Oh delight
to feel in an infinite kiss
squeeze the fresh soft pulp!

Song of the Guest, 5

The waters sleep in the full moon
in June. The large rocks shine,
closing in the silent stone
the unknown life of the sea.
Vast clouds like canopies
they hang at the top of the sky: they wait
divine lovers. Do you not feel,
Guest, the divine scent of the sea?
Don't you hate? The waters in summer a shiver
it recedes long; on the wind it flutters
a wing of song. Tonight
the sirens sing on the sea.
Which lost ship do they sing to?
To what danger do they draw the prow?
I note pale suns when
the sirens sing on the sea.
Listen! Listen! It spreads slowly
the perilous music: they are rushing
the swarms of dreams. Do not drink
Guest, the divine scent of the sea?

Song of the Guest, 6

From the effluvia of the roses from the gardens,
to the strings go the notes of love,
lunge for the high night
full of spells.
The harsh wine of youth shines and burns
in the human arteries: it brings the aura in bursts
a voluptuous warmth
of female wings.
The waters swirl at the lonely shores; they go,
from the scents of the roses in the gardens,
come the note of love
lungi and the meteors.

Song of the Guest, 7

O crescent moon fading
how you shine on the barren waters,
O silver sickle, what harvest of dreams
echoes in your gentle light down here!
Short leaf rings,
sighs of flowers from the forest
I get lost at sea: I neither sing nor shout
no sound goes into the vast silence.
Oppressed by love, by pleasure,
the people of the living fall asleep...
The waning moon, what a month of dreams
it echoes in your gentle light down here!

Song of the Guest, 8

The fragrant waters break.
with soft music at the lido;
the Bears sparkle in the deep sky:
a thread of moon on the sea set.
At times from the distant fields
the songs reach me with the wind;
the Bears shimmer in the deep sky:
From nearby it is Boote that guides them in the sky.
The slow breath of the jungle
fills the pauses of the sea;
the Bears shine in the deep sky
and the Swan that the soul of Testìade loved.
A shiver runs; the veins
a divine chill invades me...
Their pale bears in the deep sky:
it is the sign of dawn that has already awakened.

Song of the Guest, 9

Fresh are the morning winds in the forest
shivers pick up with the scents
salsa way for the wide calm
of the interlude.
On its extreme edges, I wander in the clear light of amber
Does it spread? How sweet the sea trembles!
She sleeps. To my love.
laugh, dawn? at the last dreams?
Laugh. The dreams that come from the morning heart
They blossom in the sea in your smile
dawn, I see how storms
candle of nautilus!

Song of the Guest, 10

I hold the sleep. The caressing ones
your golden days I did not feel
for within the hair neither sweet
I want your breath for the supine.
But she felt it throughout her being
an unknown virtue. The young
my hair seemed to me in the sleep
like a bush flourish.
Entangle for all the muscles
I felt the nerves tightening
roots, suggesting fibrils
he/she sheds blood from every vein;
and from the depths of the heart, where the soul
fervor, on the new star with fervor
the tepid crimson sap,
here, to touch the last peaks.
Then in the sun outside the pink ones
suddenly burst into the air
the gentle childhood of the branches;
and gives the branches the leaves, the flowers:
lucid leaves, beyond marvelous
flowers, wide purple corollas
that burning gave off a scent
like urns full of fire and aroma:
the leaves, the strange flowers burst forth
a thousand to a thousand. The tree spread out
divine in the still air
his power never seen;
it cast a shadow heavy with effluvia
above your head; and you drinking it
I sang like a Hebrew, in the sacred
silence, a song never heard.
You sang like in a fairy tale,
golden crown. My chalices
the purples were filling up, like
of a dew, of your voice.
Ebra sang the metamorphosis
mysterious. And I, oblivious
of human fate it was, and of every other
deadly thing, in my blooming.
And the song and the flower, a double marvel
sagacious, they drew from the highest sky...
Ah, all the joy of the world
in your singing, in my blooming!

Song of the Guest, 11

Sing of joy! I want to embrace you
of all the flowers because you celebrate
the joy the joy the joy,
this magnificent donor!
Sing the immense joy of living,
to be strong, to be young,
to bite into the earthly fruits
with greedy white teeth,
of bold and greedy hands
on every sweet tangible thing,
to stretch the bow on each
prey novella that desire aims at,
and to listen to all the music,
and to look with fiery eyes
the divine face of the world
as the lover looks at the beloved,
and to adore every fleeting
form, every vague sign, every image
in vain, every grace falls away,
every appearance in the brief time.
Sing the joy! Far from the soul
our pain, gray garment.
He is a miserable slave.
who makes his garment of pain.
To you joy, Guest! I want
to dress you in the most red purple
if I must also paint your
kiss in the blood of my veins.
Of all the flowers, I want to embrace you
transfigured so that you celebrate
the joy the joy the joy,
this invincible creator!

Song of the Guest, 12

Sweet enjoyment and the shadow and the breeze
Under the cherry trees! - Long is the dry
yellowing of the quarrels, and the flaming
to the sun of June trembling sea.
Long and around the solitudes
the Midday reigns, a cruel despot,
while wandering through the horizons
cup of violet haze.
Sweet enjoyment and the shadow and the breeze
under the cherry trees! The branches bend
to the weight of the red fruits
they almost seem to tinkle.
Branches cross at the rhythmic impact
of the swinging seesaw; and the dual
love rocks between the games
of the sun with a childlike soul.
They make the small branches crack
from rotten fibers, the fruits rain down
purple, the sun for the leaves
golden lightning bolts.
But you do not fear. You laugh, undaunted.
The undulating, poured throb
the crown and behold it clothes me
like a marvelous tunic.
I dressed all your flowing hair:
on my flesh I feel alive
its countless fibers,
and each has a tremor like a wing.
Up! Up! To reach the skies
I want you, to have as my wedlock.
the deep cloud... - You laugh,
you laugh fearless: you do not fear.
You, with bare arms to the shoulders
my strong thrusters, amidst the hail
red and the rays of the sun,
you laugh fearless: you do not fear.
And you laugh, and you laugh: under the white
the strength of the teeth, here, they sparkle at you
the swollen pressed fruits,
and the voluptuous humidity
In my kisses, I suck... Oh delight
supreme! The sea, the sun, the trees
the fruits, a crown, love,
youth, flame of the world,
and the ringing feminine laughter
like the crystals, and the rosy vertices
of a bosom, and the graceful gestures,
and a music of words,
all divine appearances create
this perfect joy that men
they knew under the ancients
your skies, o Hellas, and we knew
but us in time when on an island
harmonious of the Archipelago
the name was Ioessa
and I was called Dorione,
And at one o'clock he offered a vow to Venus.
Powder the mirror, the belt, the comb,
and the other sacrificed to Apollo
Delight the net, the bow, the lyre.

Votive offer
Votive Offer
The citaredo Eunomo of Locri was sacrificing in Delphi.
a bronze cicada worked for the god.
He was engaged in a contest of the lyre. And the rival of Eunomos,
Sparta was ready here; and here the judges
they were, and they were extending their delicate ones
ears to the learned sound, heavy in the face, sitting.
High it shone the day on the red veil, radiating
blue of the long between the olive trees the Sea.
In the divine light, the proof was more solemn.
it made the heart tremble to the contenders.
How the Locrian lyre sounded at the bite of the plectrum
gold, a cord snapped with a hiss.
Eunomo covered himself with pallor, fearing
the right note should not be missing in the full agreement,
for the delicate ears of the judges; when on the yoke
from the instrument, I collapse in the desert
a dew-smeared cicada settled down, singing
that of the absent string the perfect sound
he suddenly began singing in a rural manner
you who just earlier were joy of the woods!
He won for such assistance in the presence of the illustrious judges.
the citaredo Eunomo, won the beautiful test.
Where, King Apolline, the Silver Bow, son
of the immortal Leto, the crowned Eunomos
I want to honor you in Delphi by offering you a lyre.
fattened in the richest bronze, his cicada.
No, like that of Locri, only the seventh string.
he suddenly started whistling at me, oh god.
All the strings broke under the pick: they are
on the ivory yoke I saw the collars;
the twisted nerves hang; among the great crescent horns
weaves the spider in the empty space.
Tell, O Smintheus, on the esteemed trunk of the laurel the offering
Petite appearance like useless scale.
But, how your horses draw from the summit of the sky
with burning necks, Apollonian charioteer,
the breath of the forest; in the distance the bays glitter
that the divine curve of your Arch pretends
the cicadas come that drank at dawn a drop
of celestial dew and I am still drunk with it,
they come upon that lifeless one; and firm, below
the wonderful wings, rivers of melody
they pour into the turtle's pit, so that never
bring the pick the softest numbers
born on the lands and on the waters and on dear thoughts
our flows with the sound of the purest serenity.
Where I smile, the Cintio, of Eunomo; but in the heart
my heart does not tremble for me, like the citaredo.
Place in the continuous sound our soul,
pay of its silence, rich with its thoughts,
like a beautiful trireme anchored in a port,
reduce the perimeter, full of beautiful treasures.