How many poets, painters, photographers and lovers inspired the moon? Through the centuries and millenniums she had been a silent companion to men clearing up their long nights. In a midsummer night I was on a small harbour dock with the moon just in front of me. I did not resist her glamour, once more, and I took some photos of the placid reflection on the sea between the rocks.
How could I not think about those poets that wrote poems of infinite beauty enchanted by her charming glance?
I suggest the reading of two amazing poems, one written by Emily Dickinson and the other, on the Italian version of this post, written by Giacomo Leopardi around two centuries ago.
Have a nice reading, inviting you to stop a bit and admire that silent companion.
“The Moon was but a Chin of Gold
A Night or two ago—
And now she turns Her perfect Face
Upon the World below—
Her Forehead is of Amplest Blonde—
Her Cheek—a Beryl hewn—
Her Eye unto the Summer Dew
The likest I have known—
Her Lips of Amber never part—
But what must be the smile
Upon Her Friend she could confer
Were such Her Silver Will—
And what a privilege to be
But the remotest Star—
For Certainty She take Her Way
Beside Your Palace Door—
Her Bonnet is the Firmament—
The Universe—Her Shoe—
The Stars—the Trinkets at Her Belt—
Her Dimities—of Blue—”
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