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
