(From Dino Campana's "Giardino Autunnale") To ghostly gardens To the greening garlands To laurels that are mute To the autumnal land Here is a last salute! Up arid lawn Parched harshly in the final sun Struggles a roar, Where hoarsely life is crying afar: Crying to the dying sun That bloodies blossoms, one by one. A brass band saws the air where it plays: From sands of gold the river’s gone: It’s quiet where Bedazzling statues that the bridgehead held Are turned away: And now there’s only nothing. And from deep silence, like A chorus, soft and grand, Longing soars to the terrace where I stand: And in the palpable laurel, The langurous laurel whose acrid colors pierce, Where statues in glum sunset loom, immortal, She’s present, and appears.