In fashion then as of a snow-white rose 2047 Displayed itself to me the saintly host, Whom Christ in his own blood had made his bride, But the other host, that flying sees and sings The glory of Him who doth enamour it, And the goodness that created it so noble, Even as a swarm of bees, that sinks in flowers 2048 One moment, and the next returns again To where its labor is to sweetness turned, Sank into the great flower, that is adorned With leaves so many, and thence reascended To where its love abideth evermore. Their faces had they all of living flame, And wings of gold, and all the rest so white No snow unto that limit doth attain. From bench to bench, into the flower descending, They carried something of the peace and ardor Which by the fanning of their flanks they won. Nor did the interposing ’twixt the flower And what was o’er it of such plenitude Of flying shapes impede the sight and splendor; Because the light divine so penetrates