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.