SONNET
XVIII

What does it matter, say, that it was temporary
our dream of love and madness,
if this present, that I call mine,
I barely live him, when I already die it?

Where is the eternal that I am always awaiting?
I now mistrust time so fleeting;
At life and its changes I smile.
Memory is the only lasting thing!

And in it, presently, although it is passed
In it you come, but without a future.
Memory is time... eternalized!

Here I grow old, but in it I endure.
At my side your always loving smile...
I am only sure of my memory!