Poesie inserite da Emanuele Caccia

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The Unquiet Grave

Cold blows the wind tonight my love
Cold are the drops of rain
I only had one but true-love,
And in greenwood she lies slain.

I'll do as much for my true-love
As any young man may;
I'll sit and mourn upon her grave
For twelve months and a day.

The twelve months and a day veing o'er,
A voice cries from the deep;
"Who is it weeps upon my grave,
And will not let me sleep? "

"'Tis I, 'tis I, your own true-love
Who sits upon your grave,
'Til I have one kiss from your cold lips,
No comfort will I have. "

"My lips are cold as clay my love,
My breath is earthy strong,
And if you had one kiss from my cold lips,
Then your time would not be long.

O down in yonder shady grove,
Love, where we used to walk,
The fairest flower that groweth there
Is withered to a stalk.

And the stalk is withered dry true-love
So will our hearts decay.
So make yourself content my love,
"Til Death calls you away. "

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There is no Frigate like a book
To take us Lands away
Nor any Coursers like a page
Of prancing Poetry-
This Travel may the poorest take
Without oppress of a Toll-
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears the Human soul.

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Chiedo

Ho visto come trattiamo
la nostra Casa.
Come distruggiamo
il nostro mondo.
Come ci diamo da fare
per estinguerci.
Si versano lacrime e cibo
in nome della Carità.
Ho visto tutto questo
e so.
Quanto siamo folli
a pensare di poter scappare.
Quanto ignoriamo del mondo
se pensiamo di dominarlo.
E mi chiedo:
che accadrà quando il mondo
griderà vendetta?