 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder
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A SONNET OF DANTE
(“Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare”)
So fair, so pure my lady as she doth go
Upon her way, and others doth salute,
That every tongue becometh trembling-mute,
And every eye is troubled by that glow.
Her praise she hears as on she moveth slow,
Clothed with humility as with a suit;
She seems a thing that came (without dispute)
From heaven to earth a miracle to show.
Through eyes that gaze on her benignity
There passes to the heart a sense so sweet
That none can understand who may not prove;
And from her countenance there seems to move
A gentle spirit, with all love replete,
That to the soul comes, saying, “Sigh, O, sigh!”
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder
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