When the low and heavy sky weighs like a lid
On the spirit groaning in the prey of long troubles,
And when from the horizon embracing the whole circle
It sheds upon us a sadder black day than the nights;
When the earth is changed into a damp dungeon,
Or Hope, like a bat,
Goes away beating the walls with its timid wing
And this banging head has rotten ceilings;
When the rain spreading its immense trails
Of a vast prison imitates the bars,
And a mute people of infamous spiders
Comes to spread its nets deep in our brains,
Bells suddenly jump with fury
And launch towards the sky a terrible howl,
As do wandering and homeless spirits
br/>Who begin to wail obstinately.
- And long hearses, without drums or music,
Slowly parade in my soul, Hope,
Conquered, cries, and the Atrocious, despotic anguish,
On my inclined skull plants its black flag.

INVIA LE CORREZIONI