| The Question |
Il Poeta mi disse, “Che pensi?” |
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Virgil stayed Dante with a wayside word;
But long, and low, and loud and urgently
The poets of my passion have I heard
Summoning me.
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It is their closest whisper and their call.
Their greatness to this lowliness hath spoken,
Their voices rest upon that interval,
Their sign, their token.
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Man at his little prayer tells Heaven his thought,
To man entrusts his thought—“Friend, this is mine.”
The immortal poets within my breast have sought,
Saying, “What is thine?”
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