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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=359077" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Evening Of The Holiday</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The night is mild and clear, and without wind,<br>And o'er the roofs, and o'er the gardens round<br>The moon shines soft, and from afar reveals<br>Each mountain-peak serene. O lady, mine,<br>Hushed now is every path, and few and dim<br>The lamps that glimmer through the balconies.<br>Thou sleepest! in thy quiet rooms, how light<br>And easy is thy sleep! No care thy heart<br>Consumes; and little dost thou know or think,<br>How deep a wound thou in my heart hast made.<br>Thou sleepest; I to yonder heaven turn,<br>That seems to greet me with a loving smile,<br>And to that Nature old, omnipotent,<br>That doomed me still to suffer. 'I to thee<br>All hope deny,' she said, 'e'en hope; nor may<br>Those eyes of thine e'er shine, save through their tears.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This was a holiday; its pleasures o'er,<br>Thou seek'st repose; and happy in thy dreams<br>Recallest those whom thou hast pleased to-day,<br>And those who have pleased thee: not I, indeed,--<br>I hoped it not,--unto thy thoughts occur.<br>Meanwhile, I ask, how much of life remains<br>To me; and on the earth I cast myself,<br>And cry, and groan. How wretched are my days,<br>And still so young! Hark, on the road I hear,<br>Not far away, the solitary song<br>Of workman, who returns at this late hour,<br>In merry mood, unto his humble home;<br>And in my heart a cruel pang I feel,<br>At thought, how all things earthly pass away,<br>And leave no trace behind. This festal day<br>Hath fled; a working-day now follows it,<br>And all, alike, are swept away by Time.<br>Where is the glory of the antique nations now?<br>Where now the fame of our great ancestors?<br>The empire vast of Rome, the clash of arms?<br>Now all is peace and silence, all the world<br>At rest; their very names are heard no more.<br>E'en from my earliest years, when we<br>Expect so eagerly a holiday,<br>The moment it was past, I sought my couch,<br>Wakeful and sad; and at the midnight hour,<br>When I the song heard of some passer-by,<br>That slowly in the distance died away,<br>The same deep anguish felt I in my heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Count+Giacomo+Leopardi">Count Giacomo Leopardi</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=359077" data-title="The Evening Of The Holiday de Count Giacomo Leopardi" data-description="The night is mild and clear, and without wind,
And o'er the roofs, and o'er the gardens round
The moon shines soft, and from afar reveals
Each mountain-peak serene. O lady, mine,
Hushed now is every path, and few and dim
The lamps that glimmer thr..."></div>
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