Marzo: nu poco chiovee n'atu ppoco stracqua...Torna a chiovere, schiove...
ride 'o sole cu ll'acqua.
Mo nu cielo celeste,mo n'aria cupa e nera...Mo, d''o vierno, 'e ttempeste,mo, n'aria 'e primmavera...
N'auciello freddigliuso,aspetta ch'esce 'o sole...'Ncopp''o tturreno 'nfuso,suspirano 'e vviole...
Catarí', che vuó' cchiù?'Ntiénneme core mio:Marzo, tu 'o ssaje, si' tu...e st'auciello, songh'io...
March: there’s a bit of rain,just a bit later it stops:it starts, then it stops again,
the sun laughs with the drops.
A moment of clear azure,a moment of clouds threatening:a moment of winter’s fury,a moment of glorious spring.
A shivering bird nearbywaits for the sun to return,while all of the violets sighover the sodden terrain.
Caterina!... Isn’t it clearfrom what you’ve already heard?You know, you are March, my dear,and I am that little bird...