A godlike form of fearful excellence,
Clad, like the Sun, in golden panoply—
His head surmounted with a diadem
That shed eternal rays—and, in his hand,
A mighty javelin of gold and fire.
So pictured I the Sun’s Ambassador—
A god to worship—not a man to love! (Leaning on his breast.)
I had not guessed at half my happiness!
Flor. (aside). Now, by my knighthood, I would give ten years—
To find some way to break the truth to her!