BALLADE.

I found myself one day all, all alone, For pastime in a field with blossoms strewn.

I do not think the world a field could show With herbs of perfume so surpassing rare; But when I passed beyond the green hedge-row, A thousand flowers around me flourished fair, White, pied and crimson, in the summer air; Among the which I heard a sweet bird’s tone.

I found myself one day all, all alone, For pastime in a field with blossoms strewn.

Her song it was so tender and so clear That all the world listened with love; then I With stealthy feet a-tiptoe drawing near, Her golden head and golden wings could spy, Her plumes that flashed like rubies ’neath the sky, Her crystal beak and throat and bosom’s zone.

I found myself one day all, all alone, For pastime in a field with blossoms strewn.

Fain would I snare her, smit with mighty love; But arrow-like she soared, and through the air Fled to her nest upon the boughs above; Wherefore to follow her is all my care, For haply I might lure her by some snare Forth from the woodland wild where she is flown.

I found myself one day all, all alone, For pastime in a field with blossoms strewn.

Yea, I might spread some net or woven wile; But since of singing she doth take such pleasure, Without or other art or other guile I seek to win her with a tuneful measure; Therefore in singing spend all my leisure, To make by singing this sweet bird my own.

I found myself one day all, all alone, For pastime in a field with blossoms strewn. —Angelo Poliziano, (1454-1494.)