i choose to come to my blessed lady , whom i had seen repeatedly , both in town and now betimes enclosed shadowedly within a high window of her castle , a blurry form scarcely discernible as female , as a loving martyr , cloaked as handsomely as possible in ? the blackest dead of gothic night , though lighted in my way by heaven 's golden stars , having sended a swift-winged dove -- a creature made ( by my chanting certain spells , and offerring up my life , my heart and my pitiful soul ) to be under the protection of god for this one occasion alone -- with a simple letter attached to its avian leg by silken gold ribbon , purchased at market with my last pence .