Not to say non-existent, it is at least rare to find in this so-called lyric-love poetry verses in which a real experience is sung, something truly high and beautiful as seen in Dante. On the other hand, no matter the language or the time, one always finds the very same elements that bore the reader who is thirsty for some elevation. Of course, of course: there are exceptions; but the compassion that most of these poets arouse has nothing to do with the verses they have written. Sadly, they seem like children deluded by the futile, who lived by feeding on this never realized desire that maturity would disperse. Maturity, that is, wisdom or experience. Both seem to have been lacking, otherwise they would have found something more noble to direct their attention to.
Children Deluded by the Futile
