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But what? sit at her side, and of her looks,
of his smiles, of his sweet accents
feed the greedy soul, and close
make me to his lip, than on my lip
reach it I feel the warm breath ...
Ouch! I see myself when a lightning rushes me
for the astonished senses. Before the edge
a cloud stretches out: within the gorge
van smothered the words, and it seems
that of a fire the string and close.
Allor beats my heart at the fair;
and to give wind to the inflamed chest
longer and darker from the open mouth
exhale sighs; and strength is therefore
or run with kisses to his hand,
and to wet it weeping; or get up
by her fast, and with the shoulders turned
he shot his forehead in fury.
by Vincenzo Monti