Song of the wave / George Cabot Lodge [electronic text]

XXVIII
DANTE

THY voice—all its least tones, the strain and stir Measured and ardent, and the mighty trend Outward upon a light-pervaded end, Gained through the fields of flame and hideous blur. Thou art sonorous as the shuddering fir Thwarting the tempest, nor thy metres bendUnder their splendid freight, when thou dost blend Power and light and love to speak of Her. Inward thy flame arose and strong with strife Shone in thy words —thou art to me as life, Beaten, renewed with hope, and undestroyed. Thy voice comes pure to me as waters falling, Swells till it seems I hear the Seraph calling Through open spaces of the dayless void.