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“Beatrice is gone up into high heaven,
The kingdom where the angels are at peace;
And lives with them; and to her friends is dead.
Not by the frost of winter was she driven
Away, like others; nor by summer-heats;
But through a perfect gentleness, instead.
For from the lamp of her meek lowlihead
Such an exceeding glory went up hence
That it woke wonder in the Eternal Sire,
Until a sweet desire
Entererd Him for that lovely excellence,
So that He bade her to Himself aspire:
counting this weary and most evil place
Unworthy of a thing so full of grace.