A Canzone on Love

So slight her form, that she may ne'er be seen,
So fast she runs that bootless 'tis to fly,
So hard she strikes that none her power abye;
Her steely dart deals thrusts full sweet and keen.
The which no coat of mail can e'er withstand,
So true her aim — then straightway with strong hand
She bends her bow, lets fly a shaft of gold,
Thereon a head of steel full sharp and cold.

A golden crown she bears upon her head;
Sees nought but him at whom she aims her dart,
Nor ever shoots amiss, so great her art,
And lightly moves and fear around does spread;
And she was born of joy and of delight,
And all the wrong she does, will pass for right;
She feeds on gladness, deals and parries blows.
To great and small alike no mercy shows.