poetry

from the article:

Nightfall

When the sun, behind the mountain, is extinguished and twilight says, “silence,” and the mists shroud the valley, of the sun for mourning;

of the afternoon, in brief agony, when, upon ribs, moans the wind, like lighthouses on high, are lit trembling stars.

By their light, veiled by the subtle gauze of daydreams, I divine another earth, happy peaceful and mysterious.

And on the road to the dreamt-up country, A star—my star—from afar, Seems to light up the longed-for shore of heaven.