“Philosophy,” said I, ’’hath arguments,
And this place hath authority enough
‘T’ imprint in me such love:  for, of constraint,
Good, inasmuch as we perceive the good,
Kindles our love, and in degree the more,
As it comprises more of goodness in ’t. 
The essence then, where such advantage is,
That each good, found without it, is naught else
But of his light the beam, must needs attract
The soul of each one, loving, who the truth
Discerns, on which this proof is built.  Such truth
Learn I from him, who shows me the first love
Of all intelligential substances
Eternal:  from his voice I learn, whose word
Is truth, that of himself to Moses saith,
‘I will make all my good before thee pass.’ 
Lastly from thee I learn, who chief proclaim’st,
E’en at the outset of thy heralding,
In mortal ears the mystery of heav’n.”

“Through human wisdom, and th’ authority
Therewith agreeing,” heard I answer’d, “keep
The choicest of thy love for God.  But say,
If thou yet other cords within thee feel’st
That draw thee towards him; so that thou report
How many are the fangs, with which this love
Is grappled to thy soul.”  I did not miss,
To what intent the eagle of our Lord
Had pointed his demand; yea noted well
Th’ avowal, which he led to; and resum’d: 
“All grappling bonds, that knit the heart to God,
Confederate to make fast our clarity. 
The being of the world, and mine own being,
The death which he endur’d that I should live,
And that, which all the faithful hope, as I do,
To the foremention’d lively knowledge join’d,
Have from the sea of ill love sav’d my bark,
And on the coast secur’d it of the right. 
As for the leaves, that in the garden bloom,
My love for them is great, as is the good
Dealt by th’ eternal hand, that tends them all.”

I ended, and therewith a song most sweet
Rang through the spheres; and “Holy, holy, holy,”
Accordant with the rest my lady sang. 
And as a sleep is broken and dispers’d
Through sharp encounter of the nimble light,
With the eye’s spirit running forth to meet
The ray, from membrane on to the membrane urg’d;
And the upstartled wight loathes that he sees;
So, at his sudden waking, he misdeems
Of all around him, till assurance waits
On better judgment:  thus the saintly came
Drove from before mine eyes the motes away,
With the resplendence of her own, that cast
Their brightness downward, thousand miles below. 
Whence I my vision, clearer shall before,
Recover’d; and, well nigh astounded, ask’d
Of a fourth light, that now with us I saw.