di John Keats
ALL' AUTUNNO
I.
Stagione delle nebbie e della succosa fecondità,Intima prediletta amica del sole che matura,
Tu che con lui cospiri a colmare e benedire
Con frutti le viti che corrono tutt'intorno alle thatch-eves grondaie:
A piegare con i pomi gli alberi del casolare ricoperti di muschio,
E a far maturare ogni frutto fino in fondo all'anima;
A rigonfiare la zucca, e riempire i gusci dei nocciòli
Con un dolce seme; e a far sboccire ancora,
E ancora di più, fiori tardivi per le api,
Finché loro pensano che mai i caldi giorni debbano finire,
Poiché l'estate ha colmato fino all'orlo le loro viscose celle.
Chi non ti ha visto spesso nella tua dovizia?
Talvolta chiunque vada in giro può trovarti
Mentre siedi spensierata sull'aia,
mosse dolcemente le chiome dal vento che sparpaglia;
O sopra un solco non del tutto mietuto profondamente addormentata,
Vinta dai vapori dei papaveri, mentre la tua falce
Risparmia il prossimo mannello e tutti suoi fiori intrecciati;
E talvolta like...
Steady....;
O .....
Thou watchest....
lavori in corso
To Autumn
I.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
II.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
III.
Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, -
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breat whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, -
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breat whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
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