Had parted us, he pray’d to come behind. 
     I would have cast me into molten glass
To cool me, when I enter’d; so intense
Rag’d the conflagrant mass.  The sire belov’d,
To comfort me, as he proceeded, still
Of Beatrice talk’d.  “Her eyes,” saith he,
“E’en now I seem to view.”  From the other side
A voice, that sang, did guide us, and the voice
Following, with heedful ear, we issued forth,
There where the path led upward.  “Come,” we heard,
“Come, blessed of my Father.”  Such the sounds,
That hail’d us from within a light, which shone
So radiant, I could not endure the view. 
“The sun,” it added, “hastes:  and evening comes. 
Delay not:  ere the western sky is hung
With blackness, strive ye for the pass.”  Our way
Upright within the rock arose, and fac’d
Such part of heav’n, that from before my steps
The beams were shrouded of the sinking sun. 
     Nor many stairs were overpass, when now
By fading of the shadow we perceiv’d
The sun behind us couch’d:  and ere one face
Of darkness o’er its measureless expanse
Involv’d th’ horizon, and the night her lot
Held individual, each of us had made
A stair his pallet:  not that will, but power,
Had fail’d us, by the nature of that mount
Forbidden further travel.  As the goats,
That late have skipp’d and wanton’d rapidly
Upon the craggy cliffs, ere they had ta’en
Their supper on the herb, now silent lie
And ruminate beneath the umbrage brown,
While noonday rages; and the goatherd leans
Upon his staff, and leaning watches them: 
And as the swain, that lodges out all night
In quiet by his flock, lest beast of prey
Disperse them; even so all three abode,
I as a goat and as the shepherds they,
Close pent on either side by shelving rock. 
     A little glimpse of sky was seen above;
Yet by that little I beheld the stars
In magnitude and rustle shining forth
With more than wonted glory.  As I lay,
Gazing on them, and in that fit of musing,
Sleep overcame me, sleep, that bringeth oft
Tidings of future hap.  About the hour,
As I believe, when Venus from the east
First lighten’d on the mountain, she whose orb
Seems always glowing with the fire of love,
A lady young and beautiful, I dream’d,
Was passing o’er a lea; and, as she came,
Methought I saw her ever and anon
Bending to cull the flowers; and thus she sang: 
“Know ye, whoever of my name would ask,
That I am Leah:  for my brow to weave
A garland, these fair hands unwearied ply. 
To please me at the crystal mirror, here
I deck me.  But my sister Rachel, she
Before her glass abides the livelong day,
Her radiant eyes beholding, charm’d no less,
Than I with this delightful task.  Her joy
In contemplation, as in labour mine.” 
     And now as glimm’ring dawn appear’d, that breaks
More welcome to the pilgrim still, as he