One of the most remarkable things about Monteverdi's second book of madrigals is the wide variety of forms and approaches it encompasses. Although the thrust of it is progressive, and the best works therein are undoubtably the most forward-looking ones, it also contains a number of essentially old-fashioned pieces, set in a traditional madrigalistic, contrapuntal mode. Of those, Donna, nel mio, is, although deftly handled, among the most conservative. It is a perfectly eloquent, emotionally balanced, richly scored traditional madrigal, almost entirely in emotive (but unremarkable in the scheme of things) imitative counterpoint, moving from motif to motif with clock-like rightness and regularity. But even within this somewhat confining imaginative space, a few moments shine through.

There is a kind of climax at "perche l'annoia" that, in retrospect, the music has been creeping toward all along—but the movement has been so discreet, subtle to the point of sneakiness, that it's a surprise on first hearing: the soprano flares up, rising to a high note in a cry of intense misgiving out of the midst of a declaration of certitude. The harmony darkens over, as well, and for a moment there is a shivery horror of isolation. Other sparks of genius haunt the piece as well. Listeners are so used to the pattern of development by end that when the countertenor's beautiful line on "mio" shoots up like a roman candle and isn't properly chewed up by the imitative mechanism, it actually makes listeners quite anxious. It is picked up a little by the bass, but far too late and not well enough to satisfy. The line is just left as a kind of phantasm to haunt listeners' imaginations.

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