How have you left the ancient love That bards of old enjoyed in you! The languid strings do scarcely move! The sound is forced, the notes are few!

If a thing loves, it is infinite.

I myself do nothing. The Holy Spirit accomplishes all through me.

Praises reap not! Joys laugh not! Sorrows weep not!

The stars are threshed, and the souls are threshed from their husks.

Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed.

Naught can deform the human race Like to the armor's iron brace.