Like Mary’s mother, moving not her gaze,
For all her singing, from her daughter’s smile,
I would give endless thanks, give endless praise,
And look on thee, thee only, all the while.
Close to thy side, my wound made whole again,
I would not raise my eyes to where, serene,
With Rachel, Ruth, and Beatrice, freed from pain,
Sits regal, crowned with angels, heaven’s queen.
I would not even glance to where he stands,
Proud at her feet, while loud his _Aves_ swell,
With wings outspread, intent on her commands,
The mighty Love[5], God’s herald, Gabriel.
How could I choose but ever feast on this,
To see my heart’s delight again in bliss?
Footnote 5:
“Quell’ amor che primo li discese.”—_Dante._