Lindau, By Eugenio Montale

The swallow brings back blades of grass,

not wanting life to go.

But at night, between the banks, the stagnant

water wears down the stones.

Under the smoking torches a few shadows

still float off across the empty sand.

In the open square, a saraband

churns to the lowing of the paddleboats.

From “Eugenio Montale: Collected Poems 1920-1954,” translated by Jonathan Galassi (Farrar, Straus and Giroux: 626 pp., $40)