The wave of Gabriele D'Annunzio In the quiet cove spark, scale intesto like the ancient lorica of the cataphract, the sea. It seems to fade. Silver? gets dark? Suddenly as a blow to unravel the weapon, the strength the wind affects it. It doesn't last. The sluggish wave is born, immediately falls flat. The wind picks up. Another wave is born, gets lost, like a lamb that grazes pel green: a bow of foam that leaps! But the wind comes back, reinforces, redounds. Another wave rises, in his birth more lene what a virginal belly! Palpitates, salt, swells, bends, alums, inclines. The broad back shines like crystal; the light top gets ruffled as a mane horse nivea. The wind undermines it. The wave breaks, falls into the cable of the sound sulcus; it froths, it whitens blossoms, smells, overwhelms the heart, it draws the seaweed and the olive; stretches, rolls, gallops; hitch
