Dante and Beatrice
A pleasing emerald were those eyes
that turned to look at me.
Although I was a boy of nine,
that fixed my destiny.
I scarcely thought of food or drink
so perfect was her smile.
I would be in heaven
were she to bide with me awhile.
I sought out the places she might go,
as we were of the same class.
Alas, I was a step too slow
to catch the echo of her laugh.
I saw her once, at Arno Bridge,
when she was sweet sixteen.
She saw me, smiled, and spoke my name.
I was a tongue tied teen.
Her wealthy parents made a match
and betrothed her to another man.
My parents likewise chose my bride
and bade me take her hand.
My Beatrice died, aged twenty four
when Heaven stilled her lips.
Dead, before I pled my love
or touched her fingertips.
Perhaps on the streets of Heaven
our eyes will once more meet.
Then there will be time enough for love,
provided we’re discreet.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
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