The eye can no longer stand the fields of death,
Which in black girded the tremulous crater,
It stirs the fire that bubbles
Down in the bosom of the earth.

Instead of desolation, it seeks for brighter pictures,
It wanders by the sea, towards Quisisana,
Where the Angelo, deep in the clouds,
Bathes his powerful forehead.

Pass through Sorrento, through Cape Minave,
Towards the wild Capri, which bathes the waves,
Passing through the magnificent Miseno
Up to Ischia and its high mountain.

The sun touches the jagged peaks
And the smooth celestial ocean: everything tenses up
In the avid wait
Of the last kiss of the astral queen, complacent.

At last with lust she gives it, red-hot – What a picture!
As if countless luminous rosebuds
Had suddenly awakened,
So shines the coast, in sparse purple.

While a deep blue dyes the living sea,
But a messenger of the night dispels the magic.
Bold violets emerge everywhere,
Catching the ….

The proud flowers die, bled dry; and she approaches,
Expanding her dark shadows more and more,
Carrying the golden sickle in her hair,
The night itself with her eagle wings.

Oh you, Hikers from the cold north! Let flow free
The admiration that fills your clamor,
No one more beautiful than her
Can be found in this earth

-Philipp Mainländer