I found myself
upon the brink of grief's abysmal valley
that collects the thunderings of endless cries.

So dark and deep and nebulous it was,
try as I might to force my sight below,
I could not see the shape of anything.

"Let us descend into this sightless world,"
began the poet (his face was deathly pale):
"I will go first, and you will follow me."

-- Dante