IX Dante and Virgil
When lost Francesca sobbed her broken taleOf love and sin and boundless agony,While that wan spirit by her side did wailAnd bite his lips for utter misery—The grief which could not speak, nor hear, nor see—So tender grew the superhuman faceOf one who listened, that a mighty traceOf superhuman woe gave way, and paleThe sudden light up-struggled to its place;While all his limbs began to faint and failWith such excess of pity. But, behind,The Roman Virgil stood—the calm, the wise—With not a shadow in his regal eyes,A stately type of all his stately kind.