Toblino Lake

The round moon rises | from the mountain: another moon within the motionless | waters of the lake appears. I wonder | what is true: sky and waters form | an open blue-blue shell | than two twin pearls | offers to my eyes in love. Wind | does not expire, wing does not beat, nor sail | walks, nor weeping willows | bent to the shore a shiver hangs the leaves. | Only a nightingale speaks softly | in the cypress grove: with so pure voice | that I think I am dead, and this is the place | where the soul has reached its forgiveness. (Ada Negri)