Perchance six thousand miles remote from us Is glowing the sixth hour, and now this world Inclines its shadow almost to a level, When the mid-heaven begins to make itself So deep to us, that here and there a star Ceases to shine so far down as this depth, And as advances bright exceedingly The handmaid of the sun, the heaven is closed Light after light to the most beautiful;
Not otherwise the Triumph, which for ever Plays round about the point that vanquished me, Seeming enclosed by what itself encloses, Little by little from my vision faded;
Whereat to turn mine eyes on Beatrice My seeing nothing and my love constrained me.
If what has hitherto been said of her Were all concluded in a single praise, Scant would it be to serve the present turn.
Not only does the beauty I beheld Transcend ourselves, but truly I believe Its Maker only may enjoy it all.
Vanquished do I confess me by this passage More than by problem of his theme was ever O'ercome the comic or the tragic poet;
For as the sun the sight that trembles most, Even so the memory of that sweet smile My mind depriveth of its very self.
From the first day that I beheld her face In this life, to the moment of this look, The sequence of my song has ne'er been severed;
But now perforce this sequence must desist From following her beauty with my verse, As every artist at his uttermost.
Such as I leave her to a greater fame Than any of my trumpet, which is bringing Its arduous matter to a final close, With voice and gesture of a perfect leader She recommenced: "We from the greatest body Have issued to the heaven that is pure light;
Light intellectual replete with love, Love of true good replete with ecstasy, Ecstasy that transcendeth every sweetness.
Here shalt thou see the one host and the other Of Paradise, and one in the same aspects Which at the final judgment thou shalt see."
Even as a sudden lightning that disperses The visual spirits, so that it deprives The eye of impress from the strongest objects, Thus round about me flashed a living light, And left me swathed around with such a veil Of its effulgence, that I nothing saw.
"Ever the Love which quieteth this heaven Welcomes into itself with such salute, To make the candle ready for its flame."
No sooner had within me these brief words An entrance found, than I perceived myself To be uplifted over my own power, And I with vision new rekindled me, Such that no light whatever is so pure But that mine eyes were fortified against it.
And light I saw in fashion of a river Fulvid with its effulgence, 'twixt two banks Depicted with an admirable Spring.
Out of this river issued living sparks, And on all sides sank down into the flowers, Like unto rubies that are set in gold;
And then, as if inebriate with the odours, They plunged again into the wondrous torrent, And as one entered issued forth another.
"The high desire, that now inflames and moves thee To have intelligence of what thou seest, Pleaseth me all the more, the more it swells.
