Classic Poem

Dante am I — the oracle obscure
Of Wisdom and of Art, divinely sung,
Who formed the accents of my mother-tongue
To eloquence Laconic, bold and pure.
My fancy high, prompt, daring, and secure,
Passed Tartarus, and up to Heaven sprung,
And o'er the story of my journey flung,
A beauty destined ever to endure.
Florence my glorious mother was — to me,
More like a step-dame — though her loving child —
The fault of civil strife and calumny.
Ravenna gave me shelter when exiled,
And keeps my dust — my soul to God on high
Rose from it's earthly prison undefiled.