Comparing Dorian Gray 'And The Great Expectations'

How to forget you, my muse?
You were not the first and most likely will not be the last, because I suppose nothing lasts forever under the sun, but one thing is sure – you were the most special.
There were others, on whom I would write a poem or two, a word here and there, but of you I wrote thousands, thousands of words and never felt quite satisfied, as I always had to say more, to paint you more, to love you more. Even now.
You were the one to enlarge my mind, to expand my soul, to make me feel where my heart lies.
You meant a lot indeed, too much perhaps and still, still you are nearly everywhere.
When I observe a marble statue in the museum, I cannot help comparing its fair, refined perfection to your chiselled features, to the enticing pallor of your skin.

You’re in Dante’s Inferno and in Milton’s Paradise, in Shakespeare’s sonnets and the odes of Keats, in Wilde’s “Dorian Gray” and “The Great Expectations” of Dickens. You’re in every depiction of eternal beauty.
When I go to nature, it’s you that I imagine running barefoot on the grass, making the sun blush with your smile. I discern you in the graceful figure of the swan, in the gentle petals of flowers. I breathe your sweetness in the scent of the rose. I hear you call me out from the depths of the pond, like Narcissus to his Echo and my soul, still enchanted, seeks to reply you, in the only way it can – with words on paper. And then I come home and write, I write about you and see the sunlight of your smile spilled between the stanzas of my poems, the shadow of your eyes illuminating my every word.
To forget you, I will have to blot your name out of my memories, to empty my mind to the last thought, my heart – to the last emotion. I’ll have to bleed till the last drop, to have my blood all renewed, and maybe then I could finally cast you