Would Beatrice unto thee, O friend,1
As erst for him she loved, from heaven descend,2
Make pure thine eyes with light from hers, and raise3
Beyond the terrene mist thy spirit’s gaze ;4
Then wouldst thou Dante see, where starry quires5
Tune voice and thought to awe-resounding lyres ;6
His front redeem’d from care, his lip from pride,7
No love now baffled, and no foes defied ;8
His country there whence none are doom’d to roam,9
And Christ’s full presence not a foreign home.10