Simples by James Joyce

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O bella, bionda
sei come l’onda
Of cool sweet dew and radiance mild
The moon a web of silence weaves
In the still garden where a child
Gathers the simple salad leaves.

A moon-dew stars her hanging hair,
And moonlight touches her young brow;
And, gathering, she sings an air:
“Fair as the wave is, fair art thou.”

Be mine, I pray, a waxen ear
To shield me from her childish croon,
And mine a shielded heart to her
Who gathers simples of the moon.

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