THE beauty, that in Paradise doth grow,
Lively appears in my sweet goddess's Face;
From whence, as from a crystal river, flow
Favour divine and comeliness of grace.
But in her dainty, yet too cruel, Breast,
More cruelty and hardness doth abound;
Than doth in painful Purgatory rest.
So that, at once, She's fair, and cruel, found:
When in her Face and Breast, ah, grief to tell!
Bright Heaven she shows; and crafty, hides dark Hell.