BALLADE. 



I found myself one day all, all alone, 



For pastime in a field with blossoms strewn. 



I do not think the world a field could show 

 With herbs of perfume so surpassing rare; 



But when I passed beyond the green hedge-row, 

 A thousand flowers around me flourished fair, 

 White, pied and crimson, in the summer air; 



Among the which I heard a sweet bird's tone. 



I found myself one day all, all alone, 



For pastime in a field with blossoms strewn. 



Her song it was so tender and so clear 

 That all the world listened with love; then I 



With stealthy feet a-tiptoe drawing near, 



Her golden head and golden wings could spy, 

 Her plumes that flashed like rubies 'neath the sky, 



Her crystal beak and throat and bosom's zone. 



I found myself one day all, all alone, 



For pastime in a field with blossoms strewn. 



Fain would I snare her, smit with mighty love; 



But arrow-like she soared, and through the air 

 Fled to her nest upon the boughs above; 



Wherefore to follow her is all my care, 



For haply I might lure her by some snare 

 Forth from the woodland wild where she is flown. 



I found myself one day all, all alone, 



For pastime in a field with blossoms strewn. 



Yea, I might spread some net or woven wile; 



But since of singing she doth take such pleasure, 

 Without or other art or other guile 



I seek to win her with a tuneful measure; 



Therefore in singing spend all my leisure, 

 To make by singing this sweet bird my own. 



I found myself one day all, all alone, 



For pastime in a field with blossoms strewn. 



— Angelo Poliziano, (1454-1494.) 



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