By mere men’s hands the flame was lit, we know, From heaps of dry waste whin and casual brands: Yet, knowing, we scarce believe it kindled so By mere men’s hands.

Above, around, high-vaulted hell expands, Steep, dense, a labyrinth walled and roofed with woe, Whose mysteries even itself not understands.

The scorn in Farinata’s eyes aglow Seems visible in this flame: there Geryon stands: No stage of earth’s is here, set forth to show By mere men’s hands.