Say—­what are we?  We are but arrows winged with fears and shot from darkness into darkness; we are blind leaders of the blind, aimless beaters of this wintry air; lost travellers by many stony paths ending in one end.  Tell us, you, who have outworn the common tragedy and passed the narrow way, what lies beyond its gate?  You are dumb, or we cannot hear you speak.

But Beatrice knows to-day!