A woman wavered to the space half lit
By that lost sky: “In Florence had we birth;
That company thou seest, who chose to sit
Ten sunny days, a fountain’s flight beside,
Scattering the rose, and weaving tales of wit,
What time by Arno many cursing died.
Yes, Fiammetta am I. Thou little flame
(Thus the grave Angel, to this Gate my guide),
With what vain flickering hast thou proved thy name!
Hast given to no chilled spirit aught of cheer;