COMFORT OF DANTE

Down where the unconquered river still flows on,

One strong free thing within a prison's heart,

I drew me with my sacred grief apart,

That it might look that spacious joy upon:

And as I mused, lo! Dante walked with me,

And his face spake of the high peace of pain

Till all my grief glowed in me throbbingly

As in some lily's heart might glow the rain.

So like a star I listened, till mine eye

Caught that lone land across the water-way

Wherein my lady breathed,— now breathing is —

‘ O Dante,’ then I said,‘ she more than I

Should know thy comfort, go to her, I pray.’

‘ Nay!’ answered he,‘ for she hath Beatrice.’