La nebbia a gl’irti colli
The fog on the bristly hills
Piovigginando sale,
Rises with light rain,
E sotto il maestrale
And under the northwesterly wind
Urla e biancheggia il mar;
The sea roars and whitens;
Ma per le vie del borgo
But through the village streets
Dal ribollir de’ tini
From the bubbling of the vats
Va l’aspro odor de i vini
Goes the sharp smell of the wines
L’anime a rallegrar.
To cheer the souls.
Gira su’ ceppi accesi
The spit turns over the burning logs
Lo spiedo scoppiettando:
Crackling as it spins:
Sta il cacciator fischiando
The hunter stands whistling
Su l’uscio a rimirar
At the doorway, gazing out
Tra le rossastre nubi
Amid the reddish clouds
Stormi d’uccelli neri,
Flocks of black birds,
Com’esuli pensieri,
Like exiled thoughts,
Nel vespero migrar.
Migrate in the evening.
