Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — Beatrice

Even as the Blessed, at the final summons,        &nbsp Shall rise up quickened, each one from his grave,        &nbsp Wearing again the garments of the flesh, So, upon that celestial chariot,        &nbsp A hundred rose ad vocem tanti senis,        &nbsp Ministers and messengers of life eternal. They all were saying, "Benedictus qui venis,"        &nbsp And scattering flowers above and round about,        &nbsp "Manibus o date lilia plenis." Oft have I seen, at the approach of day,        &nbsp The orient sky all stained with roseate hues,        &nbsp And the other heaven with light serene adorned, And the sun's face uprising, overshadowed,        &nbsp So that, by temperate influence of vapors,        &nbsp The eye sustained his aspect for long while; Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers,        &nbsp Which from those hands angelic were thrown up,        &nbsp And down descended inside and without, With crown of olive o'er a snow-white veil,        &nbsp Appeared a lady, under a green mantle,        &nbsp Vested in colors of the living flame. . . . . . . Even as the snow, among the living rafters        &nbsp Upon the back of Italy, congeals,        &nbsp Blown on and beaten by Sclavonian winds, And then, dissolving, filters through itself,        &nbsp Whene'er the land, that loses shadow, breathes,        &nbsp Like as a taper melts before a fire, Even such I was, without a sigh or tear,        &nbsp Before the song of those who chime forever        &nbsp After the chiming of the eternal spheres; But, when I heard in those sweet melodies        &nbsp Compassion for me, more than had they said,        &nbsp "O wherefore, lady, dost thou thus consume him?" The ice, that was about my heart congealed,        &nbsp To air and water changed, and, in my anguish,        &nbsp Through lips and eyes came gushing from my breast. . . . . . . Confusion and dismay, together mingled,        &nbsp Forced such a feeble "Yes!" out of my mouth,        &nbsp To understand it one had need of sight. Even as a cross-bow breaks, when 't is discharged,        &nbsp Too tensely drawn the bow-string and the bow,        &nbsp And with less force the arrow hits the mark; So I gave way beneath this heavy burden,        &nbsp Gushing forth into bitter tears and sighs,        &nbsp And the voice, fainting, flagged upon its passage.