Giusuè Carducci (Italian: Giosuè Carducci (July 27, 1835 – February 16, 1907) was an Italian poet and literary critic. His main works include the poetry collection "Poems of Youth", the long poem "Ode to Satan", and the monograph "The Development of Italian National Literature". In 1906, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature "not only for his profound scholarship and critical research, but more importantly for the characteristic, creative momentum, fresh style and lyrical charm of his poetic masterpieces".
An ancient elegyCarduzzi (Italy).
The green pomegranate tree where you once stretched out your baby's little hand, the bright red flowers, the blooming green.
In that barren and silent orchard, a touch of new greenery had just been draped in June to restore light and heat to it.
You, the flower of my devastated dead tree, the last unique flower of my useless life.
You are in the cold land, you are in the darkness of the earth, the sun can no longer make you happy, love can no longer wake you up.
Translated by Qian Hongjia. PartingCarduzzi (Italy).
Three-colored flowers, stars sink in the ocean**, and songs die in my heart.
Translated by Qian Hongjia.
MorningCarduzzi (Italy).
The sun beats on your window and says, "Get up, beauty, it's time to love." I have brought you the desire to play the harp, and the song of the roses to awaken you. I would like to dedicate my glorious kingdom to the valleys of April and May, so that this beautiful time will stop at your beautiful years like flowers.
The wind beats against your window and says, "I have walked through too many mountains and rivers!" Today there is only one place in the whole earth where the wind and the sun are beautiful, and there is only one song for the dead and the living. The bird's nest in the greenery appeals: "Come back, we love each other, love each other, love each other." The grave that has regrown flowers sighs: "Time flies, you love, love, love." ”
My mind beat at my heart, it was a beautiful garden full of flowers, and said: Can I come in? I'm a sad old man on a long journey, I'm tired and I want to rest. I want to lie in this lovely May and have a sweet dream that has never been had; I want to lie in this joy and dream of happiness that never belonged to me.
Translated by Liu Ruting on March 20, 1882.
Midday in the AlpsCarduzzi (Italy).
In the mountains of the desert of the Alps, on the bleak granite stones, in the midst of burning glaciers, at noon, everything is silent, and the surroundings are quiet and peaceful.
There was not a breeze blowing the pines and fir trees, and they straightened up in the scorching sun, only the murmuring of the water between the rocks like a harp.
Translated by Qian Hongjia. Drifting snowCarduzzi (Italy).
Snowflakes slowly fall from the gray sky, and in the city, they can no longer be heard, the shouts and the sound of life: neither the shouts of the vegetable sellers, nor the sound of chariots, nor the songs of love, nor the songs of youth.
The hoarse chimes rang from the towers of the square, and then wailed in the air, like a sigh from a distant world.
Wandering birds fluttered against the dark glass windows, and the souls of my friends returned to me.
O dear, soon, (calm down, O wild and untamed heart) it will not be long before I will be silent and rest in a dark place.
Translated by Qian Hongjia. In Piazza San PietroCarduzzi (Italy).
The gloomy towers of Bologna rise high on a clear winter day, and the hills above laugh in the snow.
When the dying sun sends a cordial greeting to the tower and to your church of San Pietro, it is a sweet time.
The tower's mounds and wings have weathered over the centuries, and the spires of the stately church look lonely and desolate.
The sky glowed with a cold and grim flash like diamonds, and the air hung over the square like a silver veil.
Later, it gently dissipated around the massive buildings where the arms of the ancestors with round shields had been built in a gloomy manner.
The sun lingers on the high rooftops; When the sun looked down, it smiled purple, sleepily.
The smoky grey stones, contrasted with the dark vermilion bricks, seem to awaken souls that have been sleeping for centuries.
The chilly air evokes a melancholy longing and makes one nostalgic for the red May. It also makes you yearn for the fragrance of summer nights.
At that time, elegant ladies danced in the square, and the consuls and triumphant monarchs returned together.
For poems that tremble in vain pursuit of classical beauty, the muse avoids them, laughs dumbly, and sneers at them.
Translated by Qian Hongjia. Original intentionCarduzzi (Italy).
Look, from the bosom of winter laziness Spring rises again: naked in the cold air Trembling, as if enduring pain, look, Laraci, the glittering, but the tears in the sun's eyes?
The flowers awoke from the snowbed, with great trepidation: eager eyes towards the sky, and yet more than frightened was longing, oh Laraci, some fond memories, There was indeed a strange light there.
Covered with the winter snow, They slept in sweet dreams, and in their sleep they saw the dewdrops of the dawn, and saw the summer sun shining on the earth, and your bright eyes, oh Laracy, is this not a foreshadowing?
Today my heart is asleep in a dream, and my reverie flies to**? Next to your beautiful face, spring and me, stand together and smile; And yet, Laracit, ** came so many tears? Could it be that spring also feels the sadness of the twilight years?
Translated by Zheng Liping. 
Face the sea and look for the light with your black eyes. Founded on November 16, 2015, the Poetry Club takes "speaking for grassroots poets" as its mission and promoting the "spirit of poetry" as its purpose, that is, the pursuit of truth, goodness and beauty of poetry, the artistic innovation of poetry, the spiritual pleasure of poetry, and the revelation of poetry to living life.