Sonnet CLII
SONNET CLII.
Questa Fenice dell' aurata piuma.
HE COMPARES HER TO THE PHŒNIX.
This wondrous Phœnix with the golden plumesForms without art so rare a ring to deckThat beautiful and soft and snowy neck,That every heart it melts, and mine consumes:Forms, too, a natural diadem which lightsThe air around, whence Love with silent steelDraws liquid subtle fire, which still I feel[Pg 170]Fierce burning me though sharpest winter bites;Border'd with azure, a rich purple vest,Sprinkled with roses, veils her shoulders fair:Rare garment hers, as grace unique, alone!Fame, in the opulent and odorous breastOf Arab mountains, buries her sole lair,Who in our heaven so high a pitch has flown.
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