“But (for we far have wander’d) let us seek
The forward path again; so as the way
Be shorten’d with the time.  No mortal tongue
Nor thought of man hath ever reach’d so far,
That of these natures he might count the tribes. 
What Daniel of their thousands hath reveal’d
With finite number infinite conceals. 
The fountain at whose source these drink their beams,
With light supplies them in as many modes,
As there are splendours, that it shines on:  each
According to the virtue it conceives,
Differing in love and sweet affection. 
Look then how lofty and how huge in breadth
The’ eternal might, which, broken and dispers’d
Over such countless mirrors, yet remains
Whole in itself and one, as at the first.”

CANTO XXX

Noon’s fervid hour perchance six thousand miles
From hence is distant; and the shadowy cone
Almost to level on our earth declines;
When from the midmost of this blue abyss
By turns some star is to our vision lost. 
And straightway as the handmaid of the sun
Puts forth her radiant brow, all, light by light,
Fade, and the spangled firmament shuts in,
E’en to the loveliest of the glittering throng. 
Thus vanish’d gradually from my sight
The triumph, which plays ever round the point,
That overcame me, seeming (for it did)
Engirt by that it girdeth.  Wherefore love,
With loss of other object, forc’d me bend
Mine eyes on Beatrice once again.

If all, that hitherto is told of her,
Were in one praise concluded, ’t were too weak
To furnish out this turn.  Mine eyes did look
On beauty, such, as I believe in sooth,
Not merely to exceed our human, but,
That save its Maker, none can to the full
Enjoy it.  At this point o’erpower’d I fail,
Unequal to my theme, as never bard
Of buskin or of sock hath fail’d before. 
For, as the sun doth to the feeblest sight,
E’en so remembrance of that witching smile
Hath dispossess my spirit of itself. 
Not from that day, when on this earth I first
Beheld her charms, up to that view of them,
Have I with song applausive ever ceas’d
To follow, but not follow them no more;
My course here bounded, as each artist’s is,
When it doth touch the limit of his skill.

She (such as I bequeath her to the bruit
Of louder trump than mine, which hasteneth on,
Urging its arduous matter to the close),
Her words resum’d, in gesture and in voice
Resembling one accustom’d to command: 
“Forth from the last corporeal are we come
Into the heav’n, that is unbodied light,
Light intellectual replete with love,
Love of true happiness replete with joy,
Joy, that transcends all sweetness of delight. 
Here shalt thou look on either mighty host
Of Paradise; and one in that array,
Which in the final judgment thou shalt see.”