We were upon the summit of the stairs, 759 Where for the second time is cut away The mountain, which ascending shriveth all. There in like manner doth a cornice bind The hill all round about, as does the first, Save that its arc more suddenly is curved. Shade is there none, nor sculpture that appears; So seems the bank, and so the road seems smooth, With but the livid color of the stone. 760 “If to inquire we wait for people here,” The Poet said, “I fear that peradventure Too much delay will our election have.” Then steadfast on the sun his eyes he fixed, Made his right side the centre of his motion, 761 And turned the left part of himself about. “O thou sweet light! with trust in whom I enter 762 Upon this novel journey, do thou lead us,” Said he, “as one within here should be led. Thou warmest the world, thou shinest over it; If other reason prompt not otherwise,