BEYOND the sphere which spreads to widest space Now soars the sigh that my heart sends above; A new perception born of grieving Love Guideth it upward the untrodden ways. When it hath reached unto the end, and stays, It sees a lady round whom splendors move In homage; till, by the great light thereof Abashed, the pilgrim spirit stands at gaze. It sees her such, that when it tells me this Which it hath seen, I understand it not, It hath a speech so subtile and so fine. And yet I know its voice within my thought Often remembereth me of Beatrice: So that I understand it, ladies mine. |