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What English words can render the mystery of that unknown voice that calls out of the deep, "Onorate 'l altissimo poeta, Torna sua ombra che era dipartita"? The cry breaks upon the night, full of awful greeting, proclamation, prophecy, and leaves the reader standing next to Virgil, afraid now to lift up his eyes to the poet. Awe breathes in the cadence of the words themselves.
"'Onorate l' altissmo poeta!" he said, gently lifting his finger to his forehead in a military fashion. "Where is my cane, Margret? The Doctor and I will go and walk on the porch before it grows dark." The sun had gone down long before, and the stars were out; but no one spoke of this.
"'Onorate l' altissimo poeta!" he said, gently lifting his finger to his forehead in a military fashion. "Where is my cane, Margaret? The Doctor and I will go and walk on the porch before it grows dark." The sun had gone down long before, and the stars were out; but no one spoke of this.
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