Classic Poem

D ANTE , how comes it that my vows I pay
To thy stern image? that the sun hath seen
Me poring o'er the verse ‘that made thee lean’
Both setting and when he brings back the day?

For me no prayer doth sainted Lucy say,
No aid fair Mathilde lends to lave me clean,
For me have Beatrice and her lover been
Voyagers in vain upon their starry way.

I hate thy holy Empire: and my sword
In Val d' Olona would have cloven the head
Of thy good Frederick with his crown thereon.

Empire and Church lie ruined and abhorred,
While heavenward soars thy song unconquerèd:
The poet endures, tho' Jove be dead and gone.