Beauty. In the blooming of the park at springtime,
in the green of the fields and the songs of birds;
in a lovely young girl's bright eyes, in the azure of the sky,
in the innocent; games of children, in their smiles.
It is still possible to find Beauty in this world.
Beauty. In the kind feelings of a tender heart,
who feels the pain, the sufferings of his fellow man,
in the faithful prayers of lovers who must part,
in the eternity of passions that know no if, no but, no how or when.

Beauty. Alive in art centuries old, in the legacy
that genius left us and that so fortunately we still
have got: music, paintings, sculptures, writings that
shall forever inspire and that Death forgot: "Ars longa,
vita brevis". Men do die, humanity does not.

Beauty. In the grace of your motions and words, in your
kisses and caresses that make me feel the luckiest man
in the world; and I wonder if it is only I who sees all this,
and why others seem to be blind; and what would
happen if these sensations one sad day should cease,
and all the Beauty I have known should no longer exist?
Would it still be worth it to endure a life such as this?
Would you still find contort when you will look in my eyes?
Could the death of my heart be saved by your kiss?
Would you still feel safe in my embrace, in these arms,
if I were to be in a state of desperate, persistent alarm?
If I were not able to see Beauty any longer when wandering
through the peace of enchanting woods in the midday sun,
or gazing at the waves shimmering in the summer radiance
so faraway, so distant from these shores...if he Beauty
of your love should not be the queen of my soul anymore?
If my heart should turn cold and deepest emotions fade away?
What would you think then? And what could I say?                   
In a world where ugly dominion should hold sway, and be the only reality of this existence slowly passing away..
If my old self would be worn out, and dead to the truthful
seductions of Beauty and to every strand of poetry, like a
statue that seems alive, but it is only a lump of dead clay...
if that should ever happen, I would have to admit that dreams,
faith and hope have gone, and it is time to face defeat...
I would then regret ever being born, and feeling the last
strain of Beauty and Love, I shall then fall dead at your feet.