"But who art thou, with curious beauty graced, O woman, stamped with some bright heavenly seal Why go thy feet on wings, and in such haste?"

"I am that maid whose secret few may steal, Called Opportunity. I hasten by Because my feet are treading on a wheel, Being more swift to run than birds to fly.

And rightly on my feet my wings I wear, To blind the sight of those who track and spy;

Rightly in front I hold my scattered hair To veil my face, and down my breast to fall, Lest men should know my name when I am there;

And leave behind my back no wisp at all For eager folk to clutch, what time I glide So near, and turn, and pass beyond recall."

"Tell me; who is that Figure at thy side?"

"Penitence. Mark this well that by decree Who lets me go must keep her for his bride.

And thou hast spent much time in talk with me Busied with thoughts and fancies vainly grand, Nor hast remarked, O fool, neither dost see How lightly I have fled beneath thy hand."