THE TORMENTS OF LOVE

Du musst das Leben nicht verstehen,
dann wird es werden wie ein Fest.
R.M. RILKE

as her hair blew there before my eyes as if suddenly I'd woken for the first time I saw — and observed — that lovely young girl

I was taken by the harmony of her movements the lissomness of her limbs the fascination of her gaze the gentle rotundity of her breasts and more by all the charm effused by that elegant vernal creature

and I straightaway reflected — and "philosophised" — my mind turned to that innocent who may at times — I'm sure of it — suffer in torment know unhappiness in imagining that the tender the ethereal the little creature has a mind and soul

and his heart may bleed despair in attributing even a grain of intelligence to that wholly empty little head