Translation of the following excerpt is provided by Italy is falling as always. In picture (below) is writer Giovanni Comisso on the fishing boat 'Il gioiello', The Jewel, in Chioggia, near Venice, around 1925.

"Here, make your choice." Hans said.

"The third one" Said Alberto, desperate as in a revenge. Hans gave an order to his bearer who let out a whistle and the young boy followed the wheelcabs at a distance. They reached another garden next to the sea, the high palms rising up to the sky and they stopped. Hans dismissed the bearers. High trees wrapped up by climbing plants made the shadow on the dusty trail to look murkier. Among the branches it could be heard the quarreling of roosted birds. Hans said:
"Here you can do anything you want, I'll mount guard.". Alberto got closer to the boy, took him by the hand and next to a tree.
Those wild and exuberant trees were the forest of his countryside games, with Mario painted black on the face, among the brushes to the creek.

They didn't get back to the ship. The night was so warm they could feel the closed oppression of their cabins. They laid down on the dust near the sea that soundly was moving over the stony beach.

Alberto was thinking:
"I lived in a sublime laze then, and the more I moved far from that time the more I am convinced of it". Then placated he dozed until the first dim of dawn. The light appeared amid the palms agitated by an inperceptible wind. Alberto stood up. On the beach some natives were shoving the boats awash to the sea.
"My pleasures", he said to himself, "were nothing but a continuation of my childhood games." He felt Time.

"A day will come", he also said, "that someone will take me down the stairs of my house, closed in a coffin, but I will have had my childhood game entirely performed."
The light was increasing vehement along with the wind between the palms and the sea. On the boats, the natives raised the small sails and left.
The order of every thing appeared unalterable.

This was the last page of the novel Gioco d'infanzia "Childhood game", by the italian writer Giovanni Comisso (1895 - 1969).

The book novelizes in bits part of Comisso's long trip by ship to Egypt and India and then China in 1929. He wrote it in 1932, after two other books about that same trip.
I personally consider it ravishing delightful, and one of the highest point of italian literature in its times. Nothing like this will ever be published in Italy after WWII and until the last two decades of the last century.
Whatever the reason, books like this were to be considered not enough politicized, and pornographic, and thereby banned or ignored, in our very free catholic-communist-americanized Nation.