XXXIXTranslated from Lorenzo de' Medici."Ove Madonna volge gli occhi belli."
Wheresoe'er my lady turns her lovely eyes,
Sans other sunbeam, my fair Flora, there,
Maketh the earth with myriad flowers rare
Of beauteous bloom, become a paradise;
From every branch love's harmonies arise
Where birds grown amorous, her radiance share;
At her sweet voice the forests grow more fair,
Decking their branches out in leafy wise.
Sans other sunbeam, my fair Flora, there,
Maketh the earth with myriad flowers rare
Of beauteous bloom, become a paradise;
From every branch love's harmonies arise
Where birds grown amorous, her radiance share;
At her sweet voice the forests grow more fair,
Decking their branches out in leafy wise.
Yea, love descries some gentle new device,
If smile or sigh adorn her lovely face,
Wherewith to woo chaste nymphs in timid band.
There is no speech nor thought that will suffice
To tell the abundance of that goodly grace
Sprung up at the least touch of her white hand.
If smile or sigh adorn her lovely face,
Wherewith to woo chaste nymphs in timid band.
There is no speech nor thought that will suffice
To tell the abundance of that goodly grace
Sprung up at the least touch of her white hand.
50
