O bella bionda,
Sei come l’onda![13]
Of cool sweet dew and radiance mild
The moon a web of silence weaves
In the still garden where a child[14]
Gathers the simple salad leaves.
A moondew stars her hanging hair
And moonlight kisses her young brow
And, gathering, she sings an air:
Fair as the wave is, fair, are thou!
Be mine, I pray, a waxen ear
To shield me from her childish croon[15]
And mine a shielded heart for her
Who gathers simples of the moon.
[Trieste, 1915]