As some old, stately castle, ivy-grown,
Its richly stained windows all unseen
Beneath the thick entwining leaves of green,
Seems from without but solid walls of stone;
Yet when the door is passed, and then alone
The traveler sees at last, with wonder keen,
The light soft-shed within, the glow serene
Of beauty and of splendor long unknown;
So once the House of Life appeared to me;
Its stately, ivied walls alone I knew,
Until at last that wondrous, mystic face,
Beata Beatrix, fully silently
Swung wide the door, and showed me, passing through,
The unguessed beauties of that holy place.