Обри Винсент Бёрдсли (Aubrey Vincent Beardsley)

Dante in Exile

Through sorrowís mist Godís glory shines most bright,
Then may we feel His presence doubly nigh.
Save for the dark no stars would stud the sky.
Our lamps would be untrimmed save for the night.
Thus Dante, shrouded in misfortuneís blightó
A prince in pilgrimís guiseótrod gloriously
The bitter paths which in the darkness lie,
Strove through the Forest thick, and reached the height,
Raised from the earth where hopes like leaves lay dead.

His vision pierced the clouds, and soul grew strong
Dwelling upon the mysteries, till no signs
Mystic of heavenly love were left unread.
The highest found an utterance in that song
Sung lonesomely beneath Ravennaís pines. 

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