On Saturday the Village
The maiden from the countryside into the sunset, with its beam of
'grass, and is holding
waves, as wont, she is going ornate
tomorrow, a day of celebration, the chest and horsehair.
sits with neighboring
up the stairs to the old woman, Pilar,
meeting where you lose the day;
and its news is good time to
when she decorated for the feast,
and still healthy and lean
sun danced on the evening of intra those who once had
age most beautiful companions.
already darkening the air,
the serene blue back, and they return the shadows
off 'packages and' roofs,
the whitening of the recent moon.
Or the phone call
sign of the party who comes
and that sound you say
that the heart is comforted.
The children shouting
on the open space in the crowd,
jumping here and there,
make a happy noise;
and meanwhile he returns to his frugal meal,
whistling, the digger ,
him and thinks of his rest.
Then when around each other face is off,
and all else is silent,
hear the hammer hit, you hear the saw
of carpenters, which closed in the wake
the candle shop,
and impatient, and s'adopra
to provide even deed to the brightening dawn.
This is the most welcome of seven days,
full of hope and joy:
Diman sadness and boredom
recheran the hours, and the labor used in each
His thoughts will return.
playful lad,
Cotesta age flourished
is like a day full of joy,
clear day, peaceful,
that precedes the celebration of your life.
Rejoice, my child, was sweet, happy
season is that tub. Other
not want to say, 'But your party
ch'anco latest to come do not be serious.
Giacomo Leopardi
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