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• Over the dreamful poppies onward move,
• Dante, by love conducted, to the bier
• Where she lies lovelier, more divinely dear,
• Whom love and death have kissed. Ah deem not love
• Undone, though broke the blossom; lo, the dove,
• The mystic presence floating there and here,
• And far beyond the dim death-troubled sphere
• Of earth thy Beatrice borne above.

• Hold up, fair women, the flower-sprinkled veil
• 10That he may gaze, the arrow in his heart,
• Until the sight of that supreme release—
• Hands meekly folded, forehead pure and pale,
• And lips that faintly smiling seem to part
• In benediction,—say: I am in peace.

29.11.74