Even as a bird, ’mid the beloved leaves, 1814 Quiet upon the nest of her sweet brood Throughout the night, that hideth all things from us, 1815 Who, that she may behold their longed-for looks And find the food wherewith to nourish them, In which, to her, grave labors grateful are, Anticipates the time on open spray And with an ardent longing waits the sun, Gazing intent as soon as breaks the dawn: Even thus my Lady standing was, erect And vigilant, turned round towards the zone Underneath which the sun displays less haste; 1816 So that beholding her distraught and wistful, Such I became as he is who desiring For something yearns, and hoping is appeased. But brief the space from one When to the other; Of my awaiting, say I, and the seeing The welkin grow resplendent more and more. And Beatrice exclaimed: “Behold the hosts Of Christ’s triumphal march, and all the fruit 1817