Thou hadst not thrust thy finger in the fire And drawn it out again, before I saw The sign that follows Taurus, and was in it. 1802 O glorious stars, O light impregnated 1803 With mighty virtue, from which I acknowledge All of my genius, whatsoe’er it be, With you was born, and hid himself with you, 1804 He who is father of all mortal life, When first I tasted of the Tuscan air; And then when grace was freely given to me To enter the high wheel which turns you round, 1805 Your region was allotted unto me. To you devoutly at this hour my soul Is sighing, that it virtue may acquire For the stern pass that draws it to itself. “Thou art so near unto the last salvation,” Thus Beatrice began, “thou oughtest now To have thine eyes unclouded and acute; And therefore, ere thou enter farther in, Look down once more, and see how vast a world