Chapter III

Into Inferno I stalked to the stream where sulphur and brimstone well
Through lonelinesses more deep than the Florentine’s Frozen Hell.
I came to the nethermost place where Satan sate in splendor alone,
The writhing limbs of anguished men were the pillars of his throne.
His court was paved with dead men’s hopes stamped like designs into mud,
From thousand scarlet candles came the drip of human blood.
In his eyes were all the tortures of all nights barren and fever-tossed
Of all who loved and won and all who loved and lost.
And I grasped the hand of the Prince of Hell: “O brother once divine,
Lo, all your thorns have pierced my side and all your hells were mine.
Thorns of flame that destroy, remorse, with slow but infallible feet:
_I have loved Helen of Troy and the blonde Marguerite_.”