As florets, by the frosty air of night
Bent down and clos’d, when day has blanch’d their leaves,
Rise all unfolded on their spiry stems;
So was my fainting vigour new restor’d,
And to my heart such kindly courage ran,
That I as one undaunted soon replied: 
“O full of pity she, who undertook
My succour! and thou kind who didst perform
So soon her true behest!  With such desire
Thou hast dispos’d me to renew my voyage,
That my first purpose fully is resum’d. 
Lead on:  one only will is in us both. 
Thou art my guide, my master thou, and lord.”

So spake I; and when he had onward mov’d,
I enter’d on the deep and woody way.

CANTO III

“Through me you pass into the city of woe: 
Through me you pass into eternal pain: 
Through me among the people lost for aye. 
Justice the founder of my fabric mov’d: 
To rear me was the task of power divine,
Supremest wisdom, and primeval love. 
Before me things create were none, save things
Eternal, and eternal I endure.

“All hope abandon ye who enter here.”

Such characters in colour dim I mark’d
Over a portal’s lofty arch inscrib’d: 
Whereat I thus:  “Master, these words import
Hard meaning.”  He as one prepar’d replied: 
“Here thou must all distrust behind thee leave;
Here be vile fear extinguish’d.  We are come
Where I have told thee we shall see the souls
To misery doom’d, who intellectual good
Have lost.”  And when his hand he had stretch’d forth
To mine, with pleasant looks, whence I was cheer’d,
Into that secret place he led me on.

Here sighs with lamentations and loud moans
Resounded through the air pierc’d by no star,
That e’en I wept at entering.  Various tongues,
Horrible languages, outcries of woe,
Accents of anger, voices deep and hoarse,
With hands together smote that swell’d the sounds,
Made up a tumult, that for ever whirls
Round through that air with solid darkness stain’d,
Like to the sand that in the whirlwind flies.

I then, with error yet encompass’d, cried: 
“O master!  What is this I hear?  What race
Are these, who seem so overcome with woe?”

He thus to me:  “This miserable fate
Suffer the wretched souls of those, who liv’d
Without or praise or blame, with that ill band
Of angels mix’d, who nor rebellious prov’d
Nor yet were true to God, but for themselves
Were only.  From his bounds Heaven drove them forth,
Not to impair his lustre, nor the depth
Of Hell receives them, lest th’ accursed tribe
Should glory thence with exultation vain.”

I then:  “Master! what doth aggrieve them thus,
That they lament so loud?” He straight replied: 
“That will I tell thee briefly.  These of death
No hope may entertain:  and their blind life
So meanly passes, that all other lots
They envy.  Fame of them the world hath none,
Nor suffers; mercy and justice scorn them both. 
Speak not of them, but look, and pass them by.”