The wind picks up, the dark is torn to shreds,
the shadow that you send out on the fragile
balustrade is curling. Too late, if
you want to be yourself! The mouse
drops from the palm, the lightning’s on the fuse,
on the long, long lashes of your look.
– Eugenio Montale, from Collected Poems 1920-1954, Translated and Annotated by Jonathan Galassi