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.

But of this water it behoves thee drink     Before so great a thirst in thee be slaked.”     Thus said to me the sunshine of mine eyes;

And added: “The river and the topazes     Going in and out, and the laughing of the herbage,     Are of their truth foreshadowing prefaces;

Not that these things are difficult in themselves,     But the deficiency is on thy side,     For yet thou hast not vision so exalted.”

There is no babe that leaps so suddenly     With face towards the milk, if he awake     Much later than his usual custom is,

As I did, that I might make better mirrors     Still of mine eyes, down stooping to the wave     Which flows that we therein be better made.

And even as the penthouse of mine eyelids     Drank of it, it forthwith appeared to me     Out of its length to be transformed to round.

Then as a folk who have been under masks     Seem other than before, if they divest     The semblance not their own they disappeared in,

Thus into greater pomp were changed for me     The flowerets and the sparks, so that I saw     Both of the Courts of Heaven made manifest.

O splendour of God! by means of which I saw     The lofty triumph of the realm veracious,     Give me the power to say how it I saw!

There is a light above, which visible     Makes the Creator unto every creature,     Who only in beholding Him has peace,

And it expands itself in circular form     To such extent, that its circumference     Would be too large a girdle for the sun.

The semblance of it is all made of rays     Reflected from the top of Primal Motion,     Which takes therefrom vitality and power.

And as a hill in water at its base     Mirrors itself, as if to see its beauty     When affluent most in verdure and in flowers,

So, ranged aloft all round about the light,     Mirrored I saw in more ranks than a thousand     All who above there have from us returned.

And if the lowest row collect within it     So great a light, how vast the amplitude     Is of this Rose in its extremest leaves!

My vision in the vastness and the height     Lost not itself, but comprehended all     The quantity and quality of that gladness.

There near and far nor add nor take away;     For there where God immediately doth govern,     The natural law in naught is relevant.

Into the yellow of the Rose Eternal     That spreads, and multiplies, and breathes an odour     Of praise unto the ever-vernal Sun,

As one who silent is and fain would speak,     Me Beatrice drew on, and said: “Behold     Of the white stoles how vast the convent is!

Behold how vast the circuit of our city!     Behold our seats so filled to overflowing,     That here henceforward are few people wanting!

On that great throne whereon thine eyes are fixed     For the crown’s sake already placed upon it,     Before thou suppest at this wedding feast

Shall sit the soul (that is to be Augustus     On earth) of noble Henry, who shall come     To redress Italy ere she be ready.

Blind covetousness, that casts its spell upon you,     Has made you like unto the little child,     Who dies of hunger and drives off the nurse.

And in the sacred forum then shall be     A Prefect such, that openly or covert     On the same road he will not walk with him.

But long of God he will not be endured     In holy office; he shall be thrust down     Where Simon Magus is for his deserts,

And make him of Alagna lower go!”