Swift through the eyes unto the heart within
    All lovely forms that thrall our spirit stray;
    So smooth and broad and open is the way
    That thousands and not hundreds enter in. 
Burdened with scruples and weighed down with sin,
    These mortal beauties fill me with dismay;
    Nor find I one that doth not strive to stay
    My soul on transient joy, or lets me win
The heaven I yearn for.  Lo, when erring love—­
    Who fills the world, howe’er his power we shun,
    Else were the world a grave and we undone—­
Assails the soul, if grace refuse to fan
    Our purged desires and make them soar above,
    What grief it were to have been born a man!

LVII.

SECOND READING.

CARNAL AND SPIRITUAL LOVE.

Passa per gli occhi.

Swift through the eyes unto the heart within
    All lovely forms that thrall our spirit stray;
    So smooth and broad and open is the way
    That thousands and not hundreds enter in
Of every age and sex:  whence I begin,
    Burdened with griefs, but more with dull dismay,
    To fear; nor find mid all their bright array
    One that with full content my heart may win. 
If mortal beauty be the food of love,
    It came not with the soul from heaven, and thus
    That love itself must be a mortal fire: 
But if love reach to nobler hopes above,
    Thy love shall scorn me not nor dread desire
    That seeks a carnal prey assailing us.

LVIII.

LOVE AND DEATH.

Ognor che l’ idol mio.

Whene’er the idol of these eyes appears
    Unto my musing heart so weak and strong,
    Death comes between her and my soul ere long
    Chasing her thence with troops of gathering fears. 
Nathless this violence my spirit cheers
    With better hope than if she had no wrong;
    While Love invincible arrays the throng
    Of dauntless thoughts, and thus harangues his peers: 
But once, he argues, can a mortal die;
    But once be born:  and he who dies afire,
    What shall he gain if erst he dwelt with me? 
That burning love whereby the soul flies free,
    Doth lure each fervent spirit to aspire
    Like gold refined in flame to God on high.

LIX.

LOVE IS A REFINER’S FIRE.

Non piu ch’ ’l foco il fabbro.

It is with fire that blacksmiths iron subdue
    Unto fair form, the image of their thought: 
    Nor without fire hath any artist wrought
    Gold to its utmost purity of hue. 
Nay, nor the unmatched phoenix lives anew,
    Unless she burn:  if then I am distraught
    By fire, I may to better life be brought
    Like those whom death restores