Her blond hair was blown by the wind,
that tied it in a thousand sweet knots,
and the radiant light in her eyes,
which now are dulled, burned in an extraordinary way;
and it seemed to me, I know not if true or false,
that her face took on the hue of compassion:
it’s no surprise that I, whose soul was predisposed to love,
burned at once with this feeling.
Her movement was not that of an earthly being
but of an angelic spirit, and her words
sounded unlike those of a purely human voice.
I saw a heavenly spirit, a bright sun,
and even if it should be no more,
a wound does not heal because the bow has slackened.
Following
