To move along the sunbeam, whose slant line
Checkers the shadow, interpos’d by art
Against the noontide heat.  And as the chime
Of minstrel music, dulcimer, and help
With many strings, a pleasant dining makes
To him, who heareth not distinct the note;
So from the lights, which there appear’d to me,
Gather’d along the cross a melody,
That, indistinctly heard, with ravishment
Possess’d me.  Yet I mark’d it was a hymn
Of lofty praises; for there came to me
“Arise and conquer,” as to one who hears
And comprehends not.  Me such ecstasy
O’ercame, that never till that hour was thing
That held me in so sweet imprisonment. 
     Perhaps my saying over bold appears,
Accounting less the pleasure of those eyes,
Whereon to look fulfilleth all desire. 
But he, who is aware those living seals
Of every beauty work with quicker force,
The higher they are ris’n; and that there
I had not turn’d me to them; he may well
Excuse me that, whereof in my excuse
I do accuse me, and may own my truth;
That holy pleasure here not yet reveal’d,
Which grows in transport as we mount aloof.

CANTO XV

True love, that ever shows itself as clear
In kindness, as loose appetite in wrong,
Silenced that lyre harmonious, and still’d
The sacred chords, that are by heav’n’s right hand
Unwound and tighten’d, flow to righteous prayers
Should they not hearken, who, to give me will
For praying, in accordance thus were mute? 
He hath in sooth good cause for endless grief,
Who, for the love of thing that lasteth not,
Despoils himself forever of that love. 
     As oft along the still and pure serene,
At nightfall, glides a sudden trail of fire,
Attracting with involuntary heed
The eye to follow it, erewhile at rest,
And seems some star that shifted place in heav’n,
Only that, whence it kindles, none is lost,
And it is soon extinct; thus from the horn,
That on the dexter of the cross extends,
Down to its foot, one luminary ran
From mid the cluster shone there; yet no gem
Dropp’d from its foil; and through the beamy list
Like flame in alabaster, glow’d its course. 
     So forward stretch’d him (if of credence aught
Our greater muse may claim) the pious ghost
Of old Anchises, in the’ Elysian bower,
When he perceiv’d his son.  “O thou, my blood! 
O most exceeding grace divine! to whom,
As now to thee, hath twice the heav’nly gate
Been e’er unclos’d?” so spake the light; whence I
Turn’d me toward him; then unto my dame
My sight directed, and on either side
Amazement waited me; for in her eyes
Was lighted such a smile, I thought that mine
Had div’d unto the bottom of my grace
And of my bliss in Paradise.  Forthwith
To hearing and to sight grateful alike,
The spirit to his proem added things