Song falls silent, music is dumb, But the air burns with their fragrance, And white winter, on its knees, Observes everything with reverent attention.

Rising from the past, my shadow Is running in silence to meet me.

We learned not to meet anymore, We don't raise our eyes to one another, But we ourselves won't guarantee What could happen to us in an hour.

This Cruel Age has deflected me.

The triumphs of a mysterious non-meeting are desolate ones; unspoken phrases, silent words.

Italy is a dream that keeps returning for the rest of your life.

How the miracle of our meeting Shone there and sang, I didn't want to return From there to anywhere. Happiness instead of duty Was bitter delight to me. Not obliged to speak to anyone, I spoke for a long while. Let passions stifle lovers, Demanding answers, We, my dear, are only souls At the limits of the world.