by William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)
Translation © by Ferdinando Albeggiani

Those hours, that with gentle work did...
Language: English 
Available translation(s): ITA
Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very same
And that unfair which fairly doth excel;
For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter, and confounds him there;
Sap checked with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where:
Then were not summer's distillation left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was:
  But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet,
  Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.

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Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:

  • Also set in Latvian (Latviešu valoda), a translation by A. Balodis FRE FRE ITA ; composed by Pauls Miervaldis Dambis.

Other available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2007-10-07
Line count: 14
Word count: 104

Le stesse ore che con delicato lavoro...
Language: Italian (Italiano)  after the English 
Le stesse ore che con delicato lavoro hanno formato
L'amabile sembianza che ogni sguardo apprezza,
diverranno tiranne di ciò che hanno creato
e renderanno brutto ciò che eccelle in bellezza;
Perché, senza sostare mai, il tempo spinge l'estate
Verso l'orrido inverno, e lì la fa morire;
Linfa stretta dal gelo, vive foglie perdute,
bellezza sepolta dalla neve, dappertutto squallore;
Se allora non restasse dell'estate l'essenza,
Liquida prigioniera fra pareti di vetro,
Sarebbe, l'effetto della bellezza, rapito con la bellezza,
e, insieme con il suo ricordo, completamente disperso.
Ma i fiori distillati, se pure l'inverno arriva,
perdono soltanto l'aspetto; resta, la dolce essenza, viva.

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  • Translation from English to Italian (Italiano) copyright © 2009 by Ferdinando Albeggiani, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.

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This text was added to the website: 2009-05-25
Line count: 14
Word count: 103