Canto XV

be Thou, O Trine and One, Who hast unto my seed so courteous been!” And it continued: “Hunger long and grateful, Drawn from the reading of the mighty volume Wherein is never changed the white nor dark, Thou hast appeased, my son, within this light In which I speak to thee, by grace of her Who to this lofty flight with plumage clothed thee. Thou thinkest that to me thy thought doth pass From Him who is the first, as from the unit, If that be known, ray out the five and six; And therefore who I am thou askest not, And why I seem more joyous unto thee Than any other of this gladsome crowd. Thou think’st the truth; because the small and great Of this existence look into the mirror Wherein, before thou think’st, thy thought thou showest. But that the sacred love, in which I watch With sight perpetual, and which makes me thirst With sweet desire, may better be fulfilled, Now let thy voice secure and frank and glad Proclaim the wishes, the desire proclaim, To which my answer is decreed already.” To Beatrice I turned me, and she heard Before I spake, and smiled to me a sign, That made the wings of my desire increase; Then in this wise began I: “Love and knowledge, When on you dawned the first Equality, Of the same weight for each of you became; For in the Sun, which lighted you and burned With heat and radiance, they so equal are, That all similitudes are insufficient. But among mortals will and argument, For reason that to you is manifest, Diversely feathered in their pinions are. Whence I, who mortal am, feel in myself This inequality; so give not thanks, Save in my heart, for this paternal welcome. Truly do I entreat thee, living topaz! Set in this precious jewel as a gem, That thou wilt satisfy me with thy name.” “O leaf of mine, in whom I pleasure took E’en while awaiting, I was thine own root!” Such a beginning he in answer made me. Then said to me: “That one from whom is named Thy race, and who a hundred years and more Has circled round the mount on the first cornice, A son of mine and thy great-grandsire was; Well it behoves thee that the long fatigue Thou shouldst for him make shorter with thy works. Florence, within the ancient boundary From which she taketh still her tierce and nones,