The calm after the storm
by Giacomo Leopardi
The storm has passed:
I hear birds rejoice, and the hen
Out chuckling
In the road again. There, looking west,
Above the mountain, is a patch of blue;
Fields and hills brighten,
In the valley, the river gleams.
Hearts are lighter; on all sides
The hum of folk
About their daily work resumes.
The artisan, job in hand,
Singing, appears in his doorway
To glance at the wet sky;
A woman hurries to draw water
Freshened by rain;
And up and down byways and lanes
The vegetable seller
Renews his cry.
The Sun is back, smiling on hills
And hamlets. The household opens
Shutters, airs terraces;
And in the distance, on the high road,
Bells jingle; the cart creaks:
The traveler is on his way again.
Every heart grows light.
So sweet, so precious, life
As it is now?
When with so much love
Man bends to his work?
Returns to his studies? Tackles some new task?
Lets his troubles fade?
Pleasure, child of pain;
Vain joy, fruit of a routed
Fear; joy whereby he who abhorred life
Manages to banish
His dread of death;
By which fear-oppressed,
Cold, mute, pale beings
Sweated and trembled, seeing
Mobilized to strike us
Clouds, lightning, winds.
Oh amiable nature,
Such are your gifts,
Such the delights
You propose to mortals. To be free
Of pain is our delight. Pain
You lavish on us; without warning
Sorrow strikes: and joy, that gift
Born miraculously of our despair,
Is our best reward. Humankind,
Dear to the gods! Glad enough
To have space to breathe
From some despair: blessed
If by death all despair is cured.
—translated from the Italian by Beverley Bie Brahic
