And tell me why is silent in this wheel
The dulcet symphony of Paradise,
That through the rest below sounds so devoutly.”
“Thou hast thy hearing mortal as thy sight,”
It answer made to me; “they sing not here,
For the same cause that Beatrice has not smiled.
Thus far adown the holy stairway’s steps
Have I descended but to give thee welcome
With words, and with the light that mantles me;
Nor did more love cause me to be more ready,
For love as much and more up there is burning,
As doth the flaming manifest to thee.
But the high charity, that makes us servants
Prompt to the counsel which controls the world,
Allotteth here, even as thou dost observe.”
“I see full well,” said I, “O sacred lamp!
How love unfettered in this court sufficeth
To follow the eternal Providence;
But this is what seems hard for me to see,
Wherefore predestinate wast thou alone
Unto this office from among thy consorts.”
No sooner had I come to the last word,
Than of its middle made the light a centre,
Whirling itself about like a swift millstone.
When answer made the love that was therein:
“On me directed is a light divine,
Piercing through this in which I am embosomed,
Of which the virtue with my sight conjoined
Lifts me above myself so far, I see
The supreme essence from which this is drawn.