A little farther on, seven trees of gold In semblance the long space still intervening Between ourselves and them did counterfeit; But when I had approached so near to them The common object, which the sense deceives, 1087 Lost not by distance any of its marks, The faculty that lends discourse to reason 1088 Did apprehend that they were candlesticks, 1089 And in the voices of the song “Hosanna!” Above them flamed the harness beautiful, Far brighter than the moon in the serene Of midnight, at the middle of her month. I turned me round, with admiration filled, To good Virgilius, and he answered me With visage no less full of wonderment. Then back I turned my face to those high things, Which moved themselves towards us so sedately, They had been distanced by new-wedded brides. The lady chid me: “Why dost thou burn only So with affection for the living lights, And dost not look at what comes after them?”