⁠Com' a te piace⁠
Parla.

Thou poet of one mood in all thy lays,
Who rangest all life with one only love,
Like a west wind across the world dost move,
Sweeping thy harp of floods thine own wild ways.

The countries change, but not the west-wind days
Which are thy songs. Thy soft skies shine above,
And on all seas the colours of a dove,
And on all fields a flash of silver greys.

So make the whole world answer to thy art,
And sweet monotonous meanings; charm our ears;
Change not thou ever, bearing, for thy part,
One thought that is the treasure of thy years,
A small cloud full of rain upon thy heart
And in thine arms, clasped, like a child in tears.