A Restless Quiet

The Inferno, Canto IV

And in that dim grey twilight who can say 

What thoughts bestir the hearts of those who stand 
Devoid of every hope and every fear?
Though human virtue yet they may command 

They rule within an empty palace, drear
And comfortless, for Christ has harrowed hell
And they remain within a profane sphere. 

Their sighing echoes like a tolling bell 
Through all that empty, full-forsaken space.
True tragedy is this, and grief befell

That hollow human reason, lacking grace.
It’s this Paul warns against: philosophy
That’s all conceit, deceit, with double face 

And causes what it holds to atrophy 
Unless it carries on to higher truth 
Renouncing self and all idolatry. 

So they remain, know neither age nor youth.
They do not have because they did not ask 
Or they asked wrongly, for their passion’s use. 

Theirs is not a hell of endless tasks 
But a slow grief, preserved without decay.
The light of human reason, though it lasts 

Is merely twilight, never break of day.