(DANTE—INFERNO, CANTO I.)
Reading edition
"O mystic Lady; Thou in whom alone Our human race surpasses all that stand In Paradise the nearest round the throne! So eagerly I wait for thy command That to obey were slow though ready done."
How oft I read. How agonized the turning, In those my earlier days of loss and pain,— Of eyes to space and night as though by yearning— Some wall might yield and I behold again A certain angel, fled beyond discerning; In vain I chafed and sought—alas, in vain, From spurring though my heart's dark world returned To Dante's page, those wearied thoughts of mine; Again I read, again my longing burned.— A voice melodious spake in every line, But from sad pleasure sorrow fresh I learned: Strange was the music of the Florentine.