Translated from the Italian of Salvatore Quasimodo "Là dura un vento che ricordo acceso nelle criniere dei cavalli..." Here wind endures that I recall afire in manes of horses veering down the plain, a wind that stains the sandstone and erodes the hearts of statues downed onto the grass. Oh antique soul, grey with rage, back you lean into that wind, breathe of the delicate moss that clothes those giants banished down by heaven. How lonely what is left to you shall be! Oh how much more you’d grieve if you should hear that sound again, borne toward the distant sea where Heseperus’ dawn already touches the jew’s harp with its melancholic twang in that lone cartman's throat as slowly he ascends his moon-bathed hill, amid the dark murmurings of the moorish olive trees.