Again mine eyes were fix'd on Beatrice,

and with mine eyes my soul, that in her looks

found all contentment. Yet no smile she wore

and, "Did I smile," quoth she, "thou wouldst be straight

like Semele when into ashes turned:

for mounting these eternal palace-stairs,

my beauty, which the loftier it climbs,

as thou hast noted, still doth kindle more,

so shines, that, were no temp'ring interpos'd,

thy mortal puissance would from its rays

shrink, as the leaf doth from the thunderbolt.

Into the seventh splendor are we wafted,

that underneath the burning lion's breast 

beams, in this hour, commingled with his might,

thy mind be with thine eyes: and in them mirror'd

the shape, which in this mirror shall be shown."

Whoso can deem, how fondly I had fed

my sight upon her blissful countenance,

may know, when to new thoughts I chang'd, what joy

to do the bidding of my heav'nly guide:

in equal balance poising either weight.