It opened with a most infernal creak,
Like that of Hell. “Lasciate ogni speranza,
Voi, ch’ entrate!” The hinge seemed to speak,
Dreadful as Dante’s rima, or this stanza;
Or—but all words upon such themes are weak:
A single shade’s sufficient to entrance a
Hero—for what is Substance to a Spirit?
Or how is ’t Matter trembles to come near it?