Listen, listen, Mary mine,
To the whisper of the Apennine,
It bursts on the roof like the thunder’s roar,
Or like the sea on a northern shore,
Heard in its raging ebb and flow
By the captives pent in the cave below.
The Apennine in the light of day
Is a mighty mountain dim and gray,
Which between the earth and sky doth lay;
But when night comes, a chaos dread
On the dim starlight then is spread,
And the Apennine walks abroad with the storm,
Shrouding...
He continues to amaze me with the pure beauty of his verse. I wish he had lived longer- think of the poetry he could have written from his thirtieth year to possibly his sixtieth year. We've been robbed of possibly thirty years of his poetry.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
.............beautifully penned and written very nicely ★