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

Behold a God more powerful than I who comes to rule over me.

A prayer may chance to rise From one whose heart lives in the grace of God. A prayer from any other is unheeded.

There are souls beneath that water. Fixed in slimethey speak their piece, end it, and start again:'Sullen were we in the air made sweet by the Sun;in the glory of his shining our hearts poureda bitter smoke. Sullen were we begun;sullen we lie forever in this ditch.'This litany they gargle in their throatsas if they sand, but lacked the words and pitch.

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

The more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and likewise pain.

As one who sees in dreams and wakes to find the emotional impression of his vision still powerful while its parts fade from his mind - Just such am I, having lost nearly all the vision itself, while in my heart I feel the sweetness of it yet distill and fall.