Dante And Beatriche Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

I dreamt of Dante as a young man
searching for grace and prudence
for the faith in the dome of the heart.

He was sighing… the Neri would burn him,
the Bianchi remained silent for his whereabouts.
I saw him passing by the nine circles of Hell,
going to the seven wreaths of Purgatory,
entering the spheres of Paradise. Look there
the Garden, the blissful ones with a rose of light,
the manifold is now simple, creation becomes love!

Magnificent Beatriche! She is a pretty Spring:
the fog extends a wide cloak over her body,
her chest is freshness, her hair is a stalagmite.

Dante was seeing her, she was seeing upwards.
I envied the Poet, I wanted to get up from the bed.
But better not, or I would missed the very way
his eyes look at her. How could I see then Up,
without the glance of her own ethereal eyes?



©JosephJosephides