I see not those false spirits; shall I see My dearest Master, when I reach His throne; Or hear, at least, His awful judgment-word With personal intonation, as I now Hear thee, not see thee, Angel? Hitherto All has been darkness since I left the earth; Shall I remain thus sight bereft all through My penance time? If so, how comes it then That I have hearing still, and taste, and touch, 530 Yet not a glimmer of that princely sense Which binds ideas in one, and makes them live? ANGEL Nor touch, nor taste, nor hearing hast thou now; Thou livest in a world of signs and types, The presentations of most holy truths, Living and strong, which now encompass thee. A disembodied soul, thou hast by right No converse with aught else beside thyself; But, lest so stern a solitude should load And break thy being, in mercy are vouchsafed 540 Some lower measures of perception, Which seem to thee, as though through channels brought, Through ear, or nerves, or palate, which are gone. And thou art wrapped and swathed around in dreams, Dreams that are true, yet enigmatical; For the belongings of thy present state, Save through such symbols, come not home to thee. And thus thou tell'st of space, and time, and size, Of fragrant, solid, bitter, musical, Of fire, and of refreshment after fire; 550 As (let me use similitude of earth, To aid thee in the knowledge thou dost ask)-- As ice which blisters may be said to burn. Nor hast thou now extension,[28] with its parts Correlative,--long habit cozens thee,-- Nor power to move thyself, nor limbs to move. Hast thou not heard of those, who, after loss Of hand or foot, still cried that they had pains In hand or foot, as though they had it still? So is it now with thee, who hast not lost 560 Thy hand or foot, but all which made up man; So will it be, until the joyous day Of resurrection, when thou wilt regain All thou hast lost, new-made and glorified. How, even now, the consummated Saints See God in heaven, I may not explicate. Meanwhile let it suffice thee to possess Such means of converse as are granted thee, Though, till that Beatific Vision thou art blind; For e'en thy purgatory, which comes like fire, 570 Is fire without its light. SOUL His will be done! I am not worthy e'er to see again The face of day; far less His countenance Who is the very sun. Nathless, in life, When I looked forward to my purgatory, It ever was my solace to believe, That, ere I plunged amid th' avenging flame, I had one sight of Him to strengthen me. ANGEL