“Why doth my face,” said Beatrice, “thus
Enamour thee, as that thou dost not turn
Unto the beautiful garden, blossoming
Beneath the rays of Christ?  Here is the rose,
Wherein the word divine was made incarnate;
And here the lilies, by whose odour known
The way of life was follow’d.”  Prompt I heard
Her bidding, and encounter once again
The strife of aching vision.  As erewhile,
Through glance of sunlight, stream’d through broken cloud,
Mine eyes a flower-besprinkled mead have seen,
Though veil’d themselves in shade; so saw I there
Legions of splendours, on whom burning rays
Shed lightnings from above, yet saw I not
The fountain whence they flow’d.  O gracious virtue! 
Thou, whose broad stamp is on them, higher up
Thou didst exalt thy glory to give room
To my o’erlabour’d sight:  when at the name
Of that fair flower, whom duly I invoke
Both morn and eve, my soul, with all her might
Collected, on the goodliest ardour fix’d. 
And, as the bright dimensions of the star
In heav’n excelling, as once here on earth
Were, in my eyeballs lively portray’d,
Lo! from within the sky a cresset fell,
Circling in fashion of a diadem,
And girt the star, and hov’ring round it wheel’d.

Whatever melody sounds sweetest here,
And draws the spirit most unto itself,
Might seem a rent cloud when it grates the thunder,
Compar’d unto the sounding of that lyre,
Wherewith the goodliest sapphire, that inlays
The floor of heav’n, was crown’d.  “Angelic Love
I am, who thus with hov’ring flight enwheel
The lofty rapture from that womb inspir’d,
Where our desire did dwell:  and round thee so,
Lady of Heav’n! will hover; long as thou
Thy Son shalt follow, and diviner joy
Shall from thy presence gild the highest sphere.”

Such close was to the circling melody: 
And, as it ended, all the other lights
Took up the strain, and echoed Mary’s name.

The robe, that with its regal folds enwraps
The world, and with the nearer breath of God
Doth burn and quiver, held so far retir’d
Its inner hem and skirting over us,
That yet no glimmer of its majesty
Had stream’d unto me:  therefore were mine eyes
Unequal to pursue the crowned flame,
That rose and sought its natal seed of fire;
And like to babe, that stretches forth its arms
For very eagerness towards the breast,
After the milk is taken; so outstretch’d
Their wavy summits all the fervent band,
Through zealous love to Mary:  then in view
There halted, and “Regina Coeli” sang
So sweetly, the delight hath left me never.

O what o’erflowing plenty is up-pil’d
In those rich-laden coffers, which below
Sow’d the good seed, whose harvest now they keep.

Here are the treasures tasted, that with tears
Were in the Babylonian exile won,
When gold had fail’d them.  Here in synod high
Of ancient council with the new conven’d,
Under the Son of Mary and of God,
Victorious he his mighty triumph holds,
To whom the keys of glory were assign’d.