Appeared before me with its wings outspread
  The beautiful image that in sweet fruition
  Made jubilant the interwoven souls;

Appeared a little ruby each, wherein
  Ray of the sun was burning so enkindled
  That each into mine eyes refracted it.

And what it now behoves me to retrace
  Nor voice has e'er reported, nor ink written,
  Nor was by fantasy e'er comprehended;

For speak I saw, and likewise heard, the beak,
  And utter with its voice both 'I' and 'My,'
  When in conception it was 'We' and 'Our.'

And it began: "Being just and merciful
  Am I exalted here unto that glory
  Which cannot be exceeded by desire;

And upon earth I left my memory
  Such, that the evil-minded people there
  Commend it, but continue not the story."

So doth a single heat from many embers
  Make itself felt, even as from many loves
  Issued a single sound from out that image.

Whence I thereafter: "O perpetual flowers
  Of the eternal joy, that only one
  Make me perceive your odours manifold,

Exhaling, break within me the great fast
  Which a long season has in hunger held me,
  Not finding for it any food on earth.

Well do I know, that if in heaven its mirror
  Justice Divine another realm doth make,
  Yours apprehends it not through any veil.

You know how I attentively address me
  To listen; and you know what is the doubt
  That is in me so very old a fast."

Even as a falcon, issuing from his hood,
  Doth move his head, and with his wings applaud him,
  Showing desire, and making himself fine,

Saw I become that standard, which of lauds
  Was interwoven of the grace divine,
  With such songs as he knows who there rejoices.

Then it began: "He who a compass turned
  On the world's outer verge, and who within it
  Devised so much occult and manifest,

Could not the impress of his power so make
  On all the universe, as that his Word
  Should not remain in infinite excess.

And this makes certain that the first proud being,
  Who was the paragon of every creature,
  By not awaiting light fell immature.

And hence appears it, that each minor nature
  Is scant receptacle unto that good
  Which has no end, and by itself is measured.

In consequence our vision, which perforce
  Must be some ray of that intelligence
  With which all things whatever are replete,

Cannot in its own nature be so potent,
  That it shall not its origin discern
  Far beyond that which is apparent to it.

Therefore into the justice sempiternal
  The power of vision that your world receives,
  As eye into the ocean, penetrates;

Which, though it see the bottom near the shore,
  Upon the deep perceives it not, and yet
  'Tis there, but it is hidden by the depth.

There is no light but comes from the serene
  That never is o'ercast, nay, it is darkness
  Or shadow of the flesh, or else its poison.

Amply to thee is opened now the cavern
  Which has concealed from thee the living justice
  Of which thou mad'st such frequent questioning.

For saidst thou: 'Born a man is on the shore
  Of Indus, and is none who there can speak
  Of Christ, nor who can read, nor who can write;

And all his inclinations and his actions
  Are good, so far as human reason sees,
  Without a sin in life or in discourse: