Autumn

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The Summer that we did not prize,
Her treasures were so easy
Instructs us by departing now
And recognition lazy –

Bestirs itself – puts on it’s Coat
And scans with fatal promptness
For Trains that moment out of sight
Unconscious of his smartness –

(Emily Dickinson)

L’estate che non abbiamo apprezzato,
Tanto accessibili erano i suoi tesori
Ora ci fa sentire la sua partenza
E il riconoscimento è tardivo –

Si scuote – s’infila la Giacca
E con fatale sollecitudine cerca
Treni in quel momento non visibili
Inconsapevoli della sua sveltezza–

 

10 thoughts on “Autumn

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