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Messaggio di syl@ da commentare:

A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again.
Sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all.
It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried.
Thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

From "The Dead"
J. Joyce

[...cadeva su ogni punto dell’oscura pianura centrale, sulle colline senz’alberi; cadeva lieve sulle paludi di Allen e più a occidente cadeva lieve sulle fosche onde rabbiose dello Shannon. E anche là, su ogni angolo del cimitero deserto in cima alla collina dov’era sepolto Michael Furey. S’ammucchiava alta sulle croci contorte, sulle tombe, sulle punte del cancello e sui roveti spogli. E l’anima gli svanì mentre udiva la neve cadere stancamente su tutto l’universo, stancamente come se scendesse la loro ultima ora, su tutti i vivi e i morti.]

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