Ye Sylphs, or nymphs of marble
bodies, perchance to dream with songs
frantic race towards the dawn of milk
stained cirrus gold, ebony-haired
loose in the breeze of the sea?
Corse read into infinity?
O ye! O sea murmurs entries,
sung along the banks of solitary
it 'full moon in fiery copper,
it' full moon, pale, love.
(Salvatore Quasimodo, Shipyard Marina )
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