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O GIORNO FELICE!
117
With a rapturous shiver—
Like that that makes eager the pulse of the river
When something at last tells it Winter is past—
Awoke at the sound of her voice, and replied.
A libation to Spring!—ah, quickly! pour fast!
She is there! She is here!—in the sky—on the sea—
In the Morning-Land waiting my heart and me!
