Salvatore Quasimodo

Street in Agrigentum

There is still the wind that I remember Firing the manes of horses, racing, Slanting, across the plains, The wind that stains and scours the sandstone, And the heart of gloomy columns, telamons, Overthrown

Enemy of Death

(For Rossana Sironi) You should not have Ripped out your image Taken from us, from the world, A portion of beauty. What can we do We enemies of death, Bent to your feet of

Wind at Tindari

Tindari, I know you Mild between broad hills, overhanging the waters Of the god’s sweet islands. Today, you confront me And break into my heart. I climb airy peaks, precipices, Following the wind in