She

Amor, ch'al cor gentil ratto s'apprende... I wish I had the strength and wit of William Shakespeare, or the visionary fantasy of Dante and the melodious verse of Keats, to sing a poem about the fairy love that cruel life once made me feel for She that has no name for all the names are Hers. Adorable was first and Beauty followed, Courtesy in her manners and her thoughts, Doctoral science in all her learned works, Ecstasy all people felt in front of Her. Fairness is what She gave to all the world, G. was She named, and G. rang evermore into my ears wherever I could go. Will I say more? Will I then start to call each letter one by one to tell Her gifts? She was so regal, yet She smiled with me, so dignified, although with kids She joked, so beautiful but very modest too, and She was young, o gods, but wise and skilled, and after having thrown a spell on me She left for a new life in a new country. Since then I lived in an eternal Quest that nothing else can mean but searching life, and still my Graal seems lost in heaven’s mists. There’s though may be something surviving yet:: Her name engraved on a high distant rock, above a scaring wall of pure granite, where mountaineering I carved it with my knife as She had sculpt it with Her eyes in me.