Canto XXIV

And was the day of my delight

      As pure and perfect as I say?

      The very source and fount of Day

Is dash'd with wandering isles of night.

If all was good and fair we met,

      This earth had been the Paradise

      It never look'd to human eyes

Since Adam left his garden yet.

And is it that the haze of grief

      Hath stretch'd my former joy so great?

      The lowness of the present state,

That sets the past in this relief?

Or that the past will always win

      A glory from its being far;

      And orb into the perfect star

We saw not, when we moved therein?