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　　THE EXQUISITE BEAUTY OF BEATRICE.

　　While Dante and Beatrice rose from the Heaven of Primal Motion to the Empyrean, the poet turned his dazzled eyes from the heavens, whose sight he could no longer bear, to the contemplation of Beatrice.

　　Wherefore my love, and loss of other view,

　　Me back to Beatrice and her homage drew.

　　If what of her hath been already said

　　Were in one single eulogy grouped, 't would ill

　　Her meed of merit at this moment fill.

　　The beauty which in her I now beheld

　　B'yond mortals goes; her Maker, I believe,

　　Hath power alone its fulness to receive.

　　Myself I own by obstacles stronger spelled

　　Than in his labored theme was ever bard

　　Whose verses, light or grave, brought problems hard;

　　For, as of eyes quelled by the sun's bright burst,

　　E'en so the exquisite memory of that smile

　　Doth me of words and forming mind beguile.

　　Not from that day when on this earth I first

　　Her face beheld, up to this moment, song

　　Have I e'er failed to strew her path along,

　　But now I own my limping numbers lame;

　　An artist sometimes finds his powers surpassed,

　　And mine succumbs to beauty's lance at last.

　　And I must leave her to a greater fame

　　Than any that my trumpet gives, which sounds,

　　Now, hastening notes, which mark this labor's bounds.

　　Wilstach's Translation, Paradiso, Canto XXX. National Epics