Not one drop of blood is left inside my veins that does not throb: I recognize signs of the ancient flame.

O you proud Christians, wretched souls and small,/ Who by the dim lights of your twisted minds/ Believe you prosper even as you fall,/ Can you not see that we are worms, each one/ Born to become the angelic butterfly/ That flies defenseless to the Judgement Throne?

Be like a solid tower whose brave height remains unmoved by all the winds that blow; the man who lets his thoughts be turned aside by one thing or another, will lose sight of his true goal, his mind sapped of its strength.

When I had journeyed half of our life's way, I found myself within a shadowed forest, for I had lost the path that does not stray.

In judgement be ye not too confident, Even as a man who will appraise his corn When standing in a field, ere it is ripe.

e quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle" ("and thence we came forth to see again the stars")

Perceive ye not that we are worms, designed To form the angelic butterfly, that goes To judgment, leaving all defence behind? Why doth your mind take such exalted pose, Since ye, disabled, are as insects, mean As worm which never transformation knows?