Dante in exile, Beatrice and Gemma
Dante in exile
fiction
edward w pritchard
A melody without words is Beatrice.
God's glance, born as Beatrix.
Clasping eyes I espied ageless beauty.
Beatrice and I shared no song. A duet would I have liked.
Refusing to taint Beatrice, adding words, creating a song for us;
I dared not spoil God's perfect melody.
Respectful not hopeful; careful less she learn my faults and I hers, I spoke to Bice many times on the street. Me married to Gemma and Bice in time another.
Now Beatrice is dead to me.
Me in exile from Florence, lonely so, sometimes I miss Gemma, my wife.
Blessed soul Beatrice I write much of you, but cognizant less learning facts I enshrine mere woman.
fiction
edward w pritchard
A melody without words is Beatrice.
God's glance, born as Beatrix.
Clasping eyes I espied ageless beauty.
Beatrice and I shared no song. A duet would I have liked.
Refusing to taint Beatrice, adding words, creating a song for us;
I dared not spoil God's perfect melody.
Respectful not hopeful; careful less she learn my faults and I hers, I spoke to Bice many times on the street. Me married to Gemma and Bice in time another.
Now Beatrice is dead to me.
Me in exile from Florence, lonely so, sometimes I miss Gemma, my wife.
Blessed soul Beatrice I write much of you, but cognizant less learning facts I enshrine mere woman.
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