THE SUNSET
I love the hour of the dying day
when the sun, already tired, sinks,
and in the waves of the quiet sea
I see the supreme ray languish.
In that hour, a happier age than this
comes back into my heart;
in that sweet and sad hour
I turn to you, dear woman, my sigh.
The eye is motionless and motionless is the thought,
I contemplate the shiny strip
that comes from the serene, the serene West,
plowing the quiet, the quiet of the sea.
And I desire through that golden path
to come back on the infinite track
as if my tired life should
guide me to a harbor of peace.
Nothing new under the sun. At the end of our days, what we remember is always love and who was special in our life
