Stroll around the Italian lakes - Poemes & Diaporama Website L'Arié...Joie

On the side of Novara with panoramas of great beauty

In this basin of the Cusio surrounded by silent peaks, the villages sleep,

Beside the expanses of the rice-fields, where the sky of the plain is reflected,

And cultures around the sparse farms of a countryside in fields lined with poplars,

Close to the woods and the gentle hills streaked by the ranks of haughty vines.

It is through its Dome that Novara detaches itself from the surrounding rice fields patriarchal,

Colonnades targeting the sky, set out to conquer space vertically,

The statue of the Savior on his arrow completes the eyes of the pilgrims facing the Virgin and her Saints,

While in town, the group of the "Pieta" of the Broletto recalls a very distant past.

In this uniform and smooth landscape, the tourist is troubled like a sailor without a compass,

The symmetrical squares separated by the channels and ditches, seem to sail like gondolas,

On a sea of ​​calm water where the frogs in the setting sun begin their symphony of love,

Leading the visitor in a soft melancholy, facing the opal sky of the glamorous Alps chain.

The hills of Navarre resound under the names Fora or Boca, appellations of their centenary wines,

At the bottom of the pleasant hillsides the green shores of the Ticino valley,

Are traversed by the brilliant blue waves of the blue mirror of the Piedmontese river,

Enlivened by the song of the birds in joyful competition for an ode bellissimo.

In the silence of the plain small chapels and oratories throw their anguished voices,

Just as castles and fortified sites open a luminous window on the past,

The religious traces of an ancient memory arising in these countryside, an oasis of time,

The Gothic Abbey St Nazzaro Sésia decorating with its coppery reflections the sky inflamed by the setting sun.

In this region where the pig is raised in religion, dishes and wines with large bodies abound,

At the ceilings of all the delicatessens hang the enormous Pharaonic sausages or mortadelles,

With traditional dishes the "cassoeula" with Milan sprouts, embellished with pork chops,

Or the "paniscia" of rice, supplemented by the "biscottino" soaked in the Franciacorta of gold.

Orta, a fascinating place

With its mist that sometimes envelops the lake and the pink hues of the snow-capped peaks,

Orta and its Sacro Monte dedicated to the life of San Francesco accentuates its delicate charm outdated,

With its suite of panoramas between sky and mountains encircling the shimmering lake of luminescence,

The medieval and baroque village of San Giulio watches over its Renaissance frescoes.

On Lake Como, the spectacle is a permanent wonder,

The waters of the lake play with the color of the sky, soft or bright hues depending on the brightness of the sun,

Each villa, scattered on the heights or flirting with the shores, left a story alive,

At Bellagio, Franz Liszt and Marie de Flavigny, they loved each other passionately.

The narrowness of the lake makes one shore look at the other, making it particularly beautiful,

The peak of the snow-capped mountains seem to rise from the sky towards its waters,

The fishing villages, the small churches, the noble residences with lush gardens,

A sort of southern paradise, at the foot of the middle Europe, preserved from the ravages of time.

Dream of the soft mornings dawning on the crystalline waters of the sleeping lake,

A delicate mist veiling scarcely like a gauze curtain, the mountains in the distance,

The midday sun revealing the ocher walls of the houses and palaces of the Latin Empire,

The long dusk tinged with sharp Indian pink with lawns to phosphorescent green.

Tropical fjord with blue waters streaked with blue, the lake resembles a small paradise buissonnier,

Here nature celebrated its nuptials between the landscapes of mountains and the blue waters of the waves,

Its flanks are full of vines, figs, olive trees, orange and lemon trees,

Either transformed into cliffs eroded by Neptune's anger, plunge into its deep waters.

From Virgil to Stendhal, from Catullus to Goethe, its beauty has sublimated the imagination of the poets of yesteryear,

Along its shores of languid villages seem escaped from a history textbook before,

Like the steamers leaving, the terraces of the hotels are anchored on its banks of silver,

On its slopes, the ancient villas drown in a succession of fascinating gardens.

The slopes of the mountains, populated by silvery olive trees and chestnut trees,

Cypress trees, palms, white laurels and roses further enhance the charm of this commander's eden,

Here, the limonaï or citrus gardens, arranged in tiers, inspired Goethe, the German novelist,

Compared to a mountain staircase where the resplendent gold lemons burst in the green foliage.

The sun shines on the Major

Peacocks do not have colors

And the good Italian wine

Dressed in straw

Children shout for happiness

And they spread the good mood

In slides and pilfering

It is their age and their time

Here I live in full happiness

The sun shines on the Major

On the Borromean Islands

The gardens are in bloom

In the palace many visitors

As on the island of fishermen

On Isola Bella, Isabella is in the spotlight

On Isola Madre was the enchanting Lombards

Here life flows smoothly

On the "riva grassa" one is elsewhere

The story sings high hearts

The sun shines on the Major

It was at Verona that the Montaigu and the Capulet devoted themselves to ancestral hatred,

In the middle of the Renaissance, Shakespeare drew a tragedy of world renown,

Between hatred and suffering, despair and regret, Romeo and Juliet with venal passion,

Will make of this love tragedy a hymn to love revolutionizing the social order.

In the plain of the Po, Padua receives its guests in the Meadow of the Valley guarded by its illustrious,

But it is in its basilica with Byzantine allures that St Antoine rests surrounded by chandeliers,

This scholar with the talent of an orator suspended the laws of nature and healed evils,

This Franciscan monk overcame error, advocated love, hope, and drove out plagues.

Miracle posed on the water, always threatened, always saved, Venice bewitches,

From its Ducal Palace to its Cathedral of St Mark, the Serenissima on its pilotis arches,

It is on his Ariadne's thread that the colombine leaves the golden wings of the angel of the Campanile,

To open the ball of the Carnival where the gondola pavoisées cross vaporettos volubile.