The Birth Of Venus

 

You would call the foam real, the sea real, real

the conch shell and real the blowing wind; you

would see the lightning in the goddess's eyes,

the sky and the elements laughing about her; the

Hours treading the beach in white garments, the

breeze curling their loosened and flowing hair;

their faces not one, not different, as befits sisters.

           

You could swear that the goddess had emerged

from the waves, pressing her hair with her right

hand, covering with the other her sweet mound

of flesh; and where the strand was imprinted by

her sacred and divine step, it had clothed itself

in flowers and grass; then with happy, more than

mortal features, she was received in the bosom

of the three nymphs and cloaked in a starry garment.

O fair god: you who inspire through the eyes

unto the heart sweet desire full of bitter

thought, you nourish souls with a sweet venom,

feeding yourself on tears and sighs, you ennoble

whatever you regard, for no baseness can exist

within your breast; Love, whose subject I am

forever, now lend your hand to my low intellect.

Sustain the burden that weighs so much upon

me, rule, Love, my tongue and hand; you are

the beginning and the end of my lofty endeavor.

~Angelo Ambrogini