When you are old and grey,
with a shaking head
and next to the fire you are sleepy,
you will take this book.
And slowly you will read it, you will remember dreaming
of the look that your eyes had then,
of their deep shadows.
Of those who loved the happy grace
of those moments of yours
and, of false or sometimes sincere love,
They loved your beauty.
But only one of you loved the restless soul,
only one then loved the pain of your changing face.
And you, bending towards the embers, you will be a little sad,
in a murmur of Love you will say,
of how he flew away...
he passed flying beyond the border of these high mountains
and forever then his face hid
in a crowd of stars.

INVIA LE CORREZIONI