T. S. Eliot said that the last cantos of Heaven were as great as poetry can ever get.
Names are the consequences of things.
Or discendiamo omai a maggior pieta;.
In la palude va c’ha nome Stige.
As mating doves that love calls to their nest glide through the air with motionless raised wings, borne by the sweet desire that fills each breast – Just so those spirits turned on the torn sky from the band where Dido whirls across the air; such was.
Ah! what caution must men use With those who look not at the deed alone, But spy into the thoughts with subtle skill!
In us, imagination is too mean for such great heights. And that’s no miracle. For no eye ever went beyond the sun.
As puffed out sails fall when the mast gives way and flutter to a self-convulsing heap – so collapsed Plutus into that dead clay.
He listens to good purpose who takes note.
You’ll leave behind you all you hold most dear. And this will be the grievous arrow barb that exile, first of all, will shoot your way.
And you will taste the saltiness of bread when offered by another’s hand – as, too, how hard it is to climb a stranger’s stair.
All who, in wanting grace, do not seek help from you, might wish to soar yet lack the wings. Nor in your kindness do you give your aid to those alone who ask, but often run, before they ask, to them in generous freedom. In you is pity, in you compassion, in you all-giving power. All good in you is gathered up that creature form can bear.
So that their fear is turned into desire.
You taught me how a man becomes eternal;.
Fear not: for of our passage none Hath power to disappoint us, by such high Authority permitted.
Follow your constellation and you cannot fail to reach your port of glory.
How did you get yourself in such a pickle?
For when the faculty of intellect is joined with brute force and with evil will, no man can win against such an alliance.
Like those who see so clearly while they dream that marks of feeling, when their dreaming ends, remain, though nothing more returns to mind, so I am now. For nearly all I saw has gone, even if, still, within my heart, there drops the sweetness that was born from that.
I made a gallows of my house.
Vexilla Regis prodeunt Inferni.