O sickle of waning moon
Gabriele D'Annunzio

O sickle of waning moon
that shine on the desert waters,
o sickle of silver, what a harvest of dreams
waves in your mild light down here!

Short gasps of leaves
of flowers of swells from the wood
exhale towards the sea: not song not shout
not sound through the wide silence goes.

Oppressed with love, with pleasure,
the people of living fall asleep...
O waining sickle, what a harvest of dreams
waves in your mild light down here!
 
 

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