It Was Love

I wrote this shortly before leaving Milan, where I lived last fall.

 It was love! I am sure of this one true thing:

And loved it with all the strength of my soul,

The place I called home, and no longer sing

Happy songs anymore--It was love. I am sure.

 

One small pleasure"One happiness; one short delight,

It was love: I know now, though it seemed sorrow then,

And too wistful I ponder that one lovely night

I was young in Milan: and cannot be again.

 

And I think of it now as if I were older

I reflect on the memories that still I am living

For the hours grow remote--and the minutes grow colder

Hard things of the past I am still now forgiving.

 

Now in anguish I gaze on the face of tomorrow

And am leaving"and wonder! Was I happier here?

Or was I only escaping my home and that sorrow?

I know not, I was troubled"but Milan was so dear.

 

And I loved every street--what it wasn’t, and was,

And I saw it in poetry, and thought in refrain,

When Milan was a refuge! And beloved because

There was joy that remained"I was free from that pain.

 

It was love in that city, and I was there for it,

And feel no more pity, or restless regret,

For I loved it completely (did I even adore it?)--

And to Milan I am grateful: and ever in its debt.

 

Now with one parting word I am putting to rest

This short page in my life, and last afterthoughts write

And bid sorry farewell to the place I loved best

Upon pages once white--it was one Milan night.

 

 

 

Reviews

[alifeacoustic]

a beautiful picture you paint of a love. It is always sad to leave a place you love, but the path is long and there may be much more love out there to stumble upon.
Thank you for sharing this.