oh what a woeful woman--
so dire, so desperate for desire . . .
under what term does she tease it?
affections? i know much along such affect:
a lust so ludicrous it is past delegation
and the entire ordeal falls to ruins.
what a lauded longing; how dreadful a dream
to forgo all which once stilled
at so stark a sight as that azzurro celeste
poised in a proud peacock's perch
flapping through the massive flakes
to settle damp and ruffled feathers---
vero turchino!---pressed fondly on the fountain:
each white star, seed or snow or else . . .
every one is a big, round kiss
from me to you, Gradisca
oh, how i wish you could be mine
