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Rh of his, supreme above all women—the visionary tale flows on. By right of her own superlative grace, and by right, too, we seem to perceive, of that poetic adoration of which all the neighbourhood had become aware, Beatrice acquired, in her young lover's thoughts at least, a kind of divinity in Florence. The people came to the comers of the streets to see her pass. "When she drew near any one, a feeling of reverence so profound came over his heart, that he had no courage to raise his eyes." When they looked at her, "men felt within them an inexpressible sweetness and elevation; nor was it possible for any one to look upon her but straightway a sigh arose from, his heart." The poet never tells us that this universal homage was in any degree the result of his own perpetual adoration, or that Beatrice had been made into a queen and goddess in all men's eyes by the young worshipper, ever on his knees before her; but there is an exquisite inference, delicate and subtle, of satisfaction in the universal homage, which seems to point to this. "The excellent lady of whom I spake became an object of so much interest." "This lady of my heart came to be so highly esteemed." He must have felt that he had something to do with it, and the thought no doubt was sweet to him. Every thought of her calls forth a sonnet. He sees that her very companions are honoured for her sake, and he immediately weaves into shape a melodious scrap of song upon "the lady mine, with other ladies round." Another is devoted to that oft-lauded grace, "My lady's greeting," and all the wonderful attributes that were in it. Thus he goes about the dream-streets, his young soul rapt in this contemplation, his being thrilled through and through by the delight of seeing her