He who awaits the call, but sees the need, Already sets his spirit to refuse it.

All your renown is like the summer flower that blooms and dies; because the sunny glow which brings it forth, soon slays with parching power.

Through me the way into the suffering city, Through me the way to the eternal pain, Through me the way that runs among the lost. Justice urged on my high artificer; My maker was divine authority, The highest wisdom, and the primal love. Before me nothing but eternal things were made, And I endure eternally. Abandon every hope, ye who enter here.

Because there is no man who can be true and just judge of himself, so much will self-love deceive him.

But already my desire and my will were being turned like a wheel, all at one speed, by the Love which moves the sun and the other stars

Here let dead poetry rise once more to life.

No sadness is greater than in misery to rehearse memories of joy.