Dante (1265-1321)

Midway this way of life we’re bound upon,  
I woke to find myself in a dark wood,  
Where the right road was wholly lost and gone.  

Ay me! how hard to speak of it – that rude  
And rough and stubborn forest! The mere breath  
Of memory stirs the old fear in the blood;  

It is so bitter, it goes nigh to death;  
Yet there I gained such good, that, to convey  
The tale, I’ll write what else I found therewith.  

How I got into it I cannot say,  
Because I was so heavy and full of sleep  
When first I stumbled from the narrow way;  

But when at last I stood beneath a steep  
Hill’s side, which closed that valley’s wandering maze  
Whose dread had pierced me to the heart-root deep,  

Then I looked up, and saw the morning rays  
Mantle its shoulder from that planet bright  
Which guides men’s feet aright on all their ways;  

And this a little quieted the affright  
That lurking in my bosom’s had lain  
Through the long horror of that piteous night.