EVEN as BEATRICE appeared to him
Who passed through scenes of unimagined woe,
Nor feared hell's gloomy sentry, nor the flow
Of dismal Acheron; so I, through dim
Uncertain paths like his--albeit my fame
Pales 'neath his own, a taper to the sun--
Have here been led, and this my work begun,
If ended, must be ended in thy name.
No idle faith is this, by whose clear light,
And the strong effort of Love's conquering will,
From out life's mingling mass of good and ill
I have ascended to the Infinite:
Beholding thee whose beauty, cold and pale,
Beams like the Cherubim within the veil.