THE FESTIVAL OF BEATRICE

Dante, sole standing on the heavenward height,

Beheld and heard one saying, “Behold me well:

I am, I am Beatrice.” Heaven and hell

Kept silence, and the illimitable light

Of all the stars was darkness in his sight

Whose eyes beheld her eyes again, and fell

Shame-stricken. Since her soul took flight to dwell

In heaven, six hundred years have taken flight.

And now that heavenliest part of earth whereon

Shines yet their shadow as once their presence shone

To her bears witness for his sake, as he

For hers bare witness when her face was gone:

No slave, no hospice now for grief — but free

From shore to mountain and from Alp to sea.