Bianca

But for the poverty of words I'd tell of the beauty Which Venus envies And Cupid, bent on sweet revenge For his mother's sake Could not resist And instead of his bow It was his love piercing... A virgin birth, no doubt And the first blood, pure Like the spit of Jove Pledged in Olympus, a butterfly, A jewel of inestimable value The Gods marvel at their handiwork. Aware of the fate that awaits you, You took your destiny in your hand, A Caterpillar once Now a pair of wing activates From the cocoon of yesterday. Bianca, exquisite blue sky, Many have sang about your beauty That made angels abandon their positions. It's beyond description, It's better seen than heard. Bianca, shining like many stars, Nothing could be sweeter Than being borne on Zaphyr's wings, Or to wake up to the angelic Voice of the river-birds, with The whistling pines, all mute And your ears polished smooth By the unseen chorus of choirs, And the clap of the river. Then the house, a mansion Lavished with Greek columns and beams, And glittering rooms, gleaming hallways, And figures of marble at your beck and call. You did not need to lit a lamp, No room for doubt, for Love could not be any better At the sight of your dear warlord, Thick-skinned warrior Whom the Gods had lately Gathered to mount Olympus Watching over his butterfly Which is the beauty of his golden bouquet.