"And I loved again; and it was of Lina
From the red shawl, the most of my life./ She who grows
Beside us, a child
With blue eyes, is born from her womb./ Trieste is the city, the woman is Lina,
For whom I wrote my book of most daring
Sincerity; nor from her has my soul ever departed./ Every other human love I have known;
But for Lina I would live another life,
I would start again./ For the heights I loved her sorrow;
Because all was in the world, and never crafty,
And she knew everything, and herself, to love."
Created by d'Araprì