From A Little Spark May Burst A

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

Doubting Pleases Me No Less Than Knowing

The Man Who Lies Asleep Will Never Waken Fame.

At Grief So Deep The Tongue Must Wag In Vain; The Language Of Our Sense And Memory Lacks The Vocabulary Of Such Pain.

Justice Divine Has Weighed: The Doom Is Clear. All Hope Renounce, Ye Lost, Who Enter Here.