And there for the new day will we await."

'Twixt hill and plain there was a winding path
Which led us to the margin of that dell,
Where dies the border more than half away.

Gold and fine silver, and scarlet and pearl-white,
The Indian wood resplendent and serene,
Fresh emerald the moment it is broken,

By herbage and by flowers within that hollow
Planted, each one in colour would be vanquished,
As by its greater vanquished is the less.

Nor in that place had nature painted only,
But of the sweetness of a thousand odours
Made there a mingled fragrance and unknown.

"Salve Regina," on the green and flowers
There seated, singing, spirits I beheld,
Which were not visible outside the valley.

"Before the scanty sun now seeks his nest,"
Began the Mantuan who had led us thither,
"Among them do not wish me to conduct you.

Better from off this ledge the acts and faces
Of all of them will you discriminate,
Than in the plain below received among them.