BUONCONTE

In fair Arezzo's halls and bowers My Giovanna speeds her hours Delicately, nor cares To shorten by her prayers

My days upon this mount of ruth: If those who come from earth speak sooth, Though still I call and call, She does not heed at all.

And if aright your words I read At Dante's passing, he you wed Dipped from the drains of Hell The marriage hydromel.

O therefore, while the moon intense Holds yonder dreaming sea suspense, And round the shadowy coasts Gather the wistful ghosts,

Let us sit quiet all the night, And wonder, wonder on the light Worn by those spirits fair Whom Love has not left bare.