RIMA LXXVI

              In the impressive nave
            of the Byzantine church,
I saw the gothic tomb in the dim light
coming through stained glass windows.

              With her hands holding
            a book over her breast,
a beautiful woman was resting
on the urn, a marvelous sculpture.

              As if it were lighter
            than feather and satin,
the sweet form of the reclining body
was resting on a bed of granite.

              The face still
            held a final glow
of divine splendor, like the sky holds
a passing ray of the dying sun.

              Seated on a pair
            of granite cushions,
two angels, a finger over their lips,
commanded all to be silent.

              She did not seem dead;
            it seemed that she was sleeping
in the shadow of the massive arches,
that in her dreams she saw paradise.

              I approached the dark
            corner of the nave
with the soft steps of one who walks
near the cradle where a baby sleeps.

              I looked at her for a moment,
            and at the inviting brightness,
at that bed of stone next to the wall
which offered another empty space;

              in my soul I felt
            a thirst for the infinite,
a longing for that life beyond death
in which centuries are but an instant…

    …………………………………….…………………………………………………………………..

              Tired of struggling
            with the life I am living,
I sometimes think with envy
of that dark and hidden corner.
              I remember that pale,
            silent woman, and I say:
«Oh, what silent love, that of death!
What dreams in such a peaceful tomb!»