Guido Cavalcanti

1254-1300 / Italy

Who Is This That Comes And All Admire Her

Who is this that comes and all admire her,
And makes the air tremble with her brightness,
Brings Love with her, so that none who sees her
Has the power to speak, but each man sighs?
Oh, how she seems as she looks all about her,
Let Love himself tell. How can I describe her?
She seems a lady of such gentle aspect,
That all compared to her seem full of pride.

For her sweetness there is no description,
Every gentle virtue bows towards her,
And Beauty makes her its divinity.
Our minds could never soar so high,
Nor have we grace enough inside,
For us to ever know her perfectly.
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