For Where The Instrument Of Intelligence Is

We Have No Hope And Yet We Live In Longing.

Here My Powers Rest From Their High Fantasy, But Already I Could Feel My Being Turned- Instinct And Intellect Balanced Equally. As In A Wheel Whose Motion Nothing Jars- By The Love That Moves The Sun And The Other Stars.

What Shall One Do With The Verse, If He Knows Not That?

They Yearn For What They Fear For.

There Is A Place In Hell Called The Malebolge.