He Is, Most Of All, L'amor Che

Go Right On And Listen As Thou Goest.

Reason Flies When Following The Senses, On Clipped Wings.

I Did Not Die, And Yet I Lost Life’s Breath

Love Kindled By Virtue Always Kindles Another, Provided That Its Flame Appear Outwardly.

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?