by Eugenio Montale
Bring me the sunflower for me to transplant
to my own ground burnt by the spray of sea,
and show all day to the imaging blues
of sky that golden-faced anxiety.
Things hid in darkness lean towards the clear,
bodies consume themselves in a flowing
of shades; and they in varied music--showing
the chance of chances is to disappear.
So bring me the plant that takes you right
where the blond hazes shimmering rise
and life fumes to air as spirit does;
bring me the sunflower crazy with the light.
(translated from the Italian by George Kay)