Midway Upon The Journey Of Our Life

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?

All Hope Abandon, Ye Who Enter Here!

As, Pricked Out With Less And Greater Lights, Between The Poles Of The Universe, The Milky Way So Gleameth White As To Set Very Sages Questioning.

Less Shame A Greater Fault Would Palliate.

From A Small Spark, Great Flame Has Risen.