Chapter XVI

Within a petal of the blessed Rose,
Of Dante’s blessed Rose of Paradise,
Sits my belovèd, radiant in repose,
Love on his lips, and laughter in his eyes.

There, with the tender jocund company
Of little hurrying folk[3] that haste to heaven,
To him the sunshine of the life to be,
To him the perfectness of joy is given.

Above the Flower’s mystic heart of light
His rose-leaf curls, a perfumed, delicate nest,
And whitely folds around his raiment white,
Encircling him in beauty and in rest.

And in and out, like bees, the angels flit,
With stores of bliss that he may feed on it.

Footnote 3:

“Questa festinata gente a vera vita.”—_Dante._