12.04.2018
Longing for Italy
I long for Italy,for that lovely land,
where trees with yellow lemons
grow upon the seashore,
where nightingales warble
in the tranquil valley,
and the red, red seashells
glow upon the sand.
I yearn for Italy,
where the palm trees,
fragrant and tall,
stand with their green foliage,
where the lad plays the lute
close to his sweetheart's window,
when the twilight hour arrives
with its multitude of little stars.
I dream about Italy
when nightfall comes to our shed,
where there is an intricate scent
of spices among boxes and plummets.
In my dreams I see
the silvery channels
with thousands of gondolas
upon the clear river.
I fancy that I see,
in the soft moonshine,
how I scull the gondola
on the clean, transparent wave,
and in the stern,
illuminated by the stars' lustre,
sits a slender Italian girl
with a light and soft voice.
She sings about Italy,
that lovely land,
where trees with yellow lemons
grow upon the seashore,
where nightingales warble
in the dark and quit valley,
when the sun is setting
behind Vesuvius.