state he keepeth thus. Not with his surfaces his power endeth, But is as flame that from the gem extendeth. III My second marvel stood not in such ease, But he, the cloudy pinioned, winged him on Then from my sight as now from memory, The courier aquiline, so swiftly gone! The third most glorious of these majesties Give aid, O sapphires of th' eternal see, And by your light illume pure verity. That azure feldspar hight the microcline, Or, on its wing, the Menelaus weareth Such subtlety of shimmering as beareth This marvel onward through the crystalline, A splendid calyx that about her gloweth, Smiting the sunlight on whose ray she goeth. IV The diver at Sorrento from beneath The vitreous indigo, who swiftly riseth, By will and not by action as it seemeth, Moves not more smoothly, and no thought surmiseth How she takes motion from the lustrous sheath Which, as the trace behind the swimmer, gleameth Yet presseth back the aether where it streameth. To her whom it adorns this sheath imparteth The living motion from the light surrounding; And thus my nobler parts, to grief's confounding, Impart into my heart a peace which starteth From one round whom a graciousness is cast Which clingeth in the air where she hath past. V—TORNATA Canzon, to her whose spirit seems in sooth Akin unto the feldspar, since it is So clear and subtle and azure, I send thee, saying: That since I looked upon such potencies And glories as are here inscribed in truth, New boldness hath o'erthrown my long delaying, And that thy words my new-born powers obeying— Voices at last to voice my heart's long mood— Are come to greet her in their amplitude. TO OUR LADY OF VICARIOUS ATONEMENT  (BALLATA)   I Who are you that the whole world's song Is shaken out beneath your feet Leaving you comfortless, Who, that, as wheat Is garnered, gather in The blades of man's sin And bear that sheaf? Lady of wrong and grief, Blameless! II All souls beneath the gloom That pass with little flames, All these till time be run Pass one by one As Christs to save, and die; What wrong one sowed, Behold, another reaps! Where lips awake our joy The sad heart sleeps Within. No man doth bear his sin, But many sins Are gathered as a cloud about man's way. TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI Dante and I are come to learn of thee, Ser Guido of Florence, master of us all, Love, who hath set his hand upon us three, Bidding us twain upon thy glory call. Harsh light hath rent from us the golden pall Of that frail sleep, His first light seigniory, And we are come through all the modes that fall Unto their lot who meet him constantly. Wherefore, by right, in this Lord's name we greet thee, Seeing we labour at his labour daily. Thou, who dost know what way swift words are crossed O thou, who hast sung till none at song defeat 

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