THE DIVINE COMEDY: Inferno, Purgatorio & Paradiso (3 Classic Translations in One Edition). Dante Alighieri

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       Distinct I saw. The next of hue more dark

       Than sablest grain, a rough and singed block,

       Crack'd lengthwise and across. The third, that lay

       Massy above, seem'd porphyry, that flam'd

       Red as the life-blood spouting from a vein.

       On this God's angel either foot sustain'd,

       Upon the threshold seated, which appear'd

       A rock of diamond. Up the trinal steps

       My leader cheerily drew me. "Ask," said he,

       "With humble heart, that he unbar the bolt."

       Piously at his holy feet devolv'd

       I cast me, praying him for pity's sake

       That he would open to me: but first fell

       Thrice on my bosom prostrate. Seven times

       The letter, that denotes the inward stain,

       He on my forehead with the blunted point

       Of his drawn sword inscrib'd. And "Look," he cried,

       "When enter'd, that thou wash these scars away."

       Ashes, or earth ta'en dry out of the ground,

       Were of one colour with the robe he wore.

       From underneath that vestment forth he drew

       Two keys of metal twain: the one was gold,

       Its fellow silver. With the pallid first,

       And next the burnish'd, he so ply'd the gate,

       As to content me well. "Whenever one

       Faileth of these, that in the keyhole straight

       It turn not, to this alley then expect

       Access in vain." Such were the words he spake.

       "One is more precious: but the other needs

       Skill and sagacity, large share of each,

       Ere its good task to disengage the knot

       Be worthily perform'd. From Peter these

       I hold, of him instructed, that I err

       Rather in opening than in keeping fast;

       So but the suppliant at my feet implore."

       Then of that hallow'd gate he thrust the door,

       Exclaiming, "Enter, but this warning hear:

       He forth again departs who looks behind."

       As in the hinges of that sacred ward

       The swivels turn'd, sonorous metal strong,

       Harsh was the grating; nor so surlily

       Roar'd the Tarpeian, when by force bereft

       Of good Metellus, thenceforth from his loss

       To leanness doom'd. Attentively I turn'd,

       List'ning the thunder, that first issued forth;

       And "We praise thee, O God," methought I heard

       In accents blended with sweet melody.

       The strains came o'er mine ear, e'en as the sound

       Of choral voices, that in solemn chant

       With organ mingle, and, now high and clear,

       Come swelling, now float indistinct away.