And what was in the sun, wherein I entered, Apparent not by color but by light, I, though I call on genius, art, and practice, Cannot so tell that it could be imagined; Believe one can, and let him long to see it. And if our fantasies too lowly are For altitude so great, it is no marvel, Since o’er the sun was never eye could go. 1425 Such in this place was the fourth family Of the high Father, who forever sates it, Showing how he breathes forth and how begets. 1426 And Beatrice began: “Give thanks, give thanks Unto the Sun of Angels, who to this Sensible one has raised thee by his grace!” Never was heart of mortal so disposed To worship, nor to give itself to God With all its gratitude was it so ready, As at those words did I myself become; And all my love was so absorbed in Him, That in oblivion Beatrice was eclipsed. Nor this displeased her; but she smiled at it So that the splendor of her laughing eyes