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.
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