IRC-Galleria

“WHO are you? Mortal woman is less sweet;
The Heavens have richly decked and dowered you! Why
So restless? Why these wings upon your feet?”
“Few know me, Opportunity am I.
The reason that I never can be still
Is because on a wheel my foot does lie;
Unto my course no flight but matches ill,
Because, all are so dazzled as I run,
Wings on my feet I have maintained; I spill
My tresses forward that they flow as spun
Veil covering over face and bosom, so
In passing I be recognized by none;
Behind my head no single hair does grow,
So that he gazes vainly when maybe
I hasten by or look back as I go.”
“Tell me, who is it that does accompany you?”
“She is called Penitence: O take good care,
He does keep her who cannot capture me!
And you who chattering does waste time so rare,
Immersed in matters vain and manifold,
Alas, have you not seen, nor are aware
That I meanwhile have slipped out of your hold!”