I wish I could remember that first day,
first hour, first moment of your meeting me,
if bright or dim the season, it might be
summer or winter for aught I can say;
so unrecorded did it slip away,
so blind was I to see and to foresee,
so dull to mark the budding of my tree
that would not blossom yet for many a may
if only I could recollect it, such
a day of days! I let it come and go
as traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
it seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
if only now I could recall that touch,
first touch of hand in hand did one but know!
Era gia lora che volge il desio. Dante
Ricorro al tempo chio vi vidi prima. Petrarca
16-03-2011 om 19:02
geschreven door jovo
|
