Note 509 — Chapter VI

But she who gives my soul sorrow and mirth, Seemed Pallas in her gait, and in her face Venus; for every grace And beauty of the world in her combined. Merely to think, far more to tell my mind, Of that most wondrous sight, confoundeth me; For mid the maidens she Who most resembled her was found most rare. Call ye another first among the fair; Not first, but sole before my lady set: Lily and violet. And all the flowers below the rose must bow. Down from her royal head and lustrous brow The golden curls fell sportively unpent. While through the choir she went With feet well lessoned to the rhythmic sound.