A devil to perfection, I'd not limn
A hornèd monster, with a leprous skin,
Red-hot from Pandemonium—not I.
But with my delicatest tints, I'd paint
A woman in the glamour of her youth,
All garmented with loveliness and mystery!
How fair she is! Her beauty glides between
Me and my purpose, like a pleading angel.
[Beatrice sighs.
Her dream's broke, like a bubble, in a sigh.