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There is still the wind that I remember firin

There is still the wind that I remember
firing the manes of horses racing
slanting across the plains
the wind that stains and scours the sandstone

and the heart of gloomy columns telamons
overthrown in the grass. Spirit of the ancients grey

with rancour return on the wind
breathe in that feather light moss
that covers those giants hurled down by heaven.
How alone in the space that""s still yours!
And greater your pain if you hear once more
the sound that moves far off towards the sea
where Hesperus streaks the sky with morning
the jew""s harp vibrates
in the waggoner""s mouth
as he climbs the hill of moonlight slow
in the murmur of Saracen olive trees. .

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by:- admin posted in:- salvatore quasimodo

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