Longing already to search in and round
       &nbsp The heavenly forest, dense and living-green,
       &nbsp Which tempered to the eyes the newborn day,
Withouten more delay I left the bank,
       &nbsp Crossing the level country slowly, slowly,
       &nbsp Over the soil, that everywhere breathed fragrance.
A gently-breathing air, that no mutation
       &nbsp Had in itself, smote me upon the forehead,
       &nbsp No heavier blow, than of a pleasant breeze,
Whereat the tremulous branches readily
       &nbsp Did all of them bow downward towards that side
       &nbsp Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain;
Yet not from their upright direction bent
       &nbsp So that the little birds upon their tops
       &nbsp Should cease the practice of their tuneful art;
But with full-throated joy, the hours of prime
       &nbsp Singing received they in the midst of foliage
       &nbsp That made monotonous burden to their rhymes,
Even as from branch to branch it gathering swells,
       &nbsp Through the pine forests on the shore of Chiassi,
       &nbsp When Aeolus unlooses the Sirocco.
Already my slow steps had led me on
       &nbsp Into the ancient wood so far, that I
       &nbsp Could see no more the place where I had entered.
And lo! my further course cut off a river,
       &nbsp Which, tow'rds the left hand, with its little waves,
       &nbsp Bent down the grass, that on its margin sprang.
All waters that on earth most limpid are,
       &nbsp Would seem to have within themselves some mixture,
       &nbsp Compared with that, which nothing doth conceal,
Although it moves on with a brown, brown current,
       &nbsp Under the shade perpetual, that never
       &nbsp Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon.