Eager already to search in and round     The heavenly forest, dense and living-green,     Which tempered to the eyes the new-born day,

Withouten more delay I left the bank,     Taking the level country slowly, slowly     Over the soil that everywhere breathes fragrance.

A softly-breathing air, that no mutation     Had in itself, upon the forehead smote me     No heavier blow than of a gentle wind,

Whereat the branches, lightly tremulous,     Did all of them bow downward toward that side     Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain;

Yet not from their upright direction swayed,     So that the little birds upon their tops     Should leave the practice of each art of theirs;

But with full ravishment the hours of prime,     Singing, received they in the midst of leaves,     That ever bore a burden to their rhymes,

Such as from branch to branch goes gathering on     Through the pine forest on the shore of Chiassi,     When Eolus unlooses the Sirocco.

Already my slow steps had carried me     Into the ancient wood so far, that I     Could not perceive where I had entered it.

And lo! my further course a stream cut off,     Which tow’rd the left hand with its little waves     Bent down the grass that on its margin sprang.

All waters that on earth most limpid are     Would seem to have within themselves some mixture     Compared with that which nothing doth conceal,

Although it moves on with a brown, brown current     Under the shade perpetual, that never     Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon.

With feet I stayed, and with mine eyes I passed     Beyond the rivulet, to look upon     The great variety of the fresh may.

And there appeared to me (even as appears     Suddenly something that doth turn aside     Through very wonder every other thought)

A lady all alone, who went along     Singing and culling floweret after floweret,     With which her pathway was all painted over.

“Ah, beauteous lady, who in rays of love     Dost warm thyself, if I may trust to looks,     Which the heart’s witnesses are wont to be,

May the desire come unto thee to draw     Near to this river’s bank,” I said to her,     “So much that I might hear what thou art singing.

Thou makest me remember where and what     Proserpina that moment was when lost     Her mother her, and she herself the Spring.”

As turns herself, with feet together pressed     And to the ground, a lady who is dancing,     And hardly puts one foot before the other,

On the vermilion and the yellow flowerets     She turned towards me, not in other wise     Than maiden who her modest eyes casts down;

And my entreaties made to be content,     So near approaching, that the dulcet sound     Came unto me together with its meaning

As soon as she was where the grasses are.     Bathed by the waters of the beauteous river,     To lift her eyes she granted me the boon.

I do not think there shone so great a light     Under the lids of Venus, when transfixed     By her own son, beyond his usual custom!

Erect upon the other bank she smiled,     Bearing full many colours in her hands,     Which that high land produces without seed.

Apart three paces did the river make us;     But Hellespont, where Xerxes passed across,     (A curb still to all human arrogance,)

More hatred from Leander did not suffer     For rolling between Sestos and Abydos,     Than that from me, because it oped not then.

“Ye are new-comers; and because I smile,”     Began she, “peradventure, in this place     Elect to human nature for its nest,

Some apprehension keeps you marvelling;     But the psalm ‘Delectasti’ giveth light     Which has the power to uncloud your intellect.

And thou who foremost art, and didst entreat me,     Speak, if thou wouldst hear more; for I came ready     To all thy questionings, as far as needful.”

“The water,” said I, “and the forest’s sound,     Are combating within me my new faith     In something which I heard opposed to this.”

Whence she: “I will relate how from its cause     Proceedeth that which maketh thee to wonder,     And purge away the cloud that smites upon thee.

The Good Supreme, sole in itself delighting,     Created man good, and this goodly place     Gave him as hansel of eternal peace.

By his default short while he sojourned here;     By his default to weeping and to toil     He changed his innocent laughter and sweet play.

That the disturbance which below is made     By exhalations of the land and water,     (Which far as may be follow after heat,)

Might not upon mankind wage any war,     This mount ascended tow’rds the heaven so high,     And is exempt, from there where it is locked.

Now since the universal atmosphere     Turns in a circuit with the primal motion     Unless the circle is broken on some side,

Upon this height, that all is disengaged     In living ether, doth this motion strike     And make the forest sound, for it is dense;

And so much power the stricken plant possesses     That with its virtue it impregns the air,     And this, revolving, scatters it around;

And yonder earth, according as ’tis worthy     In self or in its clime, conceives and bears     Of divers qualities the divers trees;

It should not seem a marvel then on earth,     This being heard, whenever any plant     Without seed manifest there taketh root.

And thou must know, this holy table-land     In which thou art is full of every seed,     And fruit has in it never gathered there.

The water which thou seest springs not from vein     Restored by vapour that the cold condenses,     Like to a stream that gains or loses breath;

But issues from a fountain safe and certain,     Which by the will of God as much regains     As it discharges, open on two sides.

Upon this side with virtue it descends,     Which takes away all memory of sin;     On that, of every good deed done restores it.

Here Lethe, as upon the other side     Eunoe, it is called; and worketh not     If first on either side it be not tasted.

This every other savour doth transcend;     And notwithstanding slaked so far may be     Thy thirst, that I reveal to thee no more,

I’ll give thee a corollary still in grace,     Nor think my speech will be to thee less dear     If it spread out beyond my promise to thee.

Those who in ancient times have feigned in song     The Age of Gold and its felicity,     Dreamed of this place perhaps upon Parnassus.

Here was the human race in innocence;     Here evermore was Spring, and every fruit;     This is the nectar of which each one speaks.”

Then backward did I turn me wholly round     Unto my Poets, and saw that with a smile     They had been listening to these closing words;

Then to the beautiful lady turned mine eyes.