Want to know:

She'd let her gold hair flow free in the breezethat whirled it into thousands of sweet knots,and lovely light would burn beyond all measurein those fair eyes whose light is dimmer now. Her face would turn the color pity wears,a pity true or false I did not know,and I with all love's tinder in my breast—it's no surprise I quickly caught on fire.The way she walked was not the way of mortalsbut of angelic forms, and when she spokemore than an earthly voice it was that sang:a godly spirit and a loving sunwas what I saw, and if she is not now,my wound still bleads, although the bow's unbent.

Get a detailed, AI-powered explanation for this question and thousands more on StudyFetch.