Normale Version: Dante
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When i of poets dream, not Spenser sweet
Nor Hafiz high it is that holds my thought;
Nor Shakespeare, last for crowning wonder wrought;
Nay, in my mind I see Ravenna street

And there, head bowed beneath the noontide heat,
A black-robed dreamer fare, austere and haught,
With eyes turned inward, unregarding aught,
Who no man greeteth and whom none doth greet:

And as he goes, at him the passers-by
Point with scared looks and murmur, "This is he
"Who did hell-fire and purging pains aby.

"Mark but how black his cheeks and temples be!"
Fools, see ye not upon his brows hell's stress
Not only writ, but Heaven's approof no less?