La Bella Mano
O lovely hand, that thy sweet self dost lave
In that thy pure and proper element,
Whence erst the Lady of Love’s high advent
Was born, and endless fires sprang from the wave:—
Even as her Loves to her their offerings gave,
For thee the jewelled gifts they bear; while each
Looks to those lips, of music—measured speech
The fount, and of more bliss than man may crave.
In royal wise ring—girt and bracelet—spann’d,
A flower of Venus’ own virginity,
Go shine among thy sisterly sweet band;
In maiden—minded converse delicately
Evermore white and soft; until thou be,
O hand! heart—handsel’d in a lover’s hand.
————
With golden mantle, rings, and necklace fair,
It likes her best to wear
Only a rose within her golden hair.
————
A golden robe, yet will she wear
Only a rose in her golden hair.
