Clof, clop, cloch,
Cloffete,
Cloppete,
Clocchete,
Chchch...
The poor
Sick
Fountain
Is down
In the courtyard;
Hearing
It cough,
What a pang!
It coughs,
Coughs,
Stands still
A bit...
Coughs
Again.
My poor
Fountain,
Your pain
Presses
My heart.
It stands still,
One can't hear
Any
Noise,
Maybe...
Maybe...
Is it dead?
Horror!
Ah! no.
Here it's again,
It coughs
Again.
Clof, clop, cloch,
Cloffete,
Cloppete,
Clocchete,
Chchch...
The phthisis
Is killing it.
Oh my God!
Its
Eternal
Cough
Is the death
Of me;
A little,
Well and good,
But a lot...
What a lamentation!
But Habel!
Victoria!
Go,
Run,
Turn the spring off,
Its
Eternal
Cough
Is the death of me!
Go,
Place
Something
To put
An end to it,
Maybe...
Maybe
To die.
Heavens!
Jesus!
Never more!
Never more.
In the end
With your
Ill,
My poor
Fountain,
You'll see you kill
Me as well.
Clof, clop, cloch,
Cloffete,
Cloppete,
Clocchete,
Chchch...
(Translated from Italian by P.G.Mazzarello)
Paolo Giuseppe Mazzarello
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-a-palazzeschi-the-sick-fountain/
