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
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