If at seventeen he wrote the following sonnet, what would he have written had he not died at nineteen?
Si bene quid de te merui, fuit aut tibi quicquam Dulce meum…
If, when we walked together in the rain,
While tears and raindrops mingled in our eyes:
And talked of foolish things to ease the pain
Of parting: when we thought we could disguise
Our feelings in the light of stolen joy:
When fawning bracken kissed our sodden shoes,
And hand in hand, determined to enjoy
Those last few moments we were soon to lose.
We walked in silence, awed by shrouding mist
And wondered at the silent wilderness
Of moor and mountain, and the pall above,
And laughed awhile,--and sometimes all but kissed:
If then we found a little happiness,
Did neither of us see that this was—Love?