Do Not Desert Me When

There Is No Greater Sorrow Than To Recall Happiness In Times Of Misery.

A Rapid Bolt Will Rend The Clouds Apart, And Every Single White Be Seared By Wounds. I Tell You This. I Want It All To Hurt.

Like The Lark That Soars In The Air, First Singing, Then Silent, Content With The Last Sweetness That Satiates It, Such Seemed To Me That Image, The Imprint Of The Eternal Pleasure.

He Whom You See-along The Downward Arc- Was William, And The Land That Mourns His Death, For Living Charles And Frederick, Now Laments; Now He Has Learned How Heaven Loves The Just Ruler, And He Would Show This Outwardly As Well, So Radiantly Visible.

Open Your Mind To What I Shall Disclose, And Hold It Fast Within You; He Who Hears, But Does Not Hold What He Has Heard, Learns Nothing. Beatrice - Canto V 40-42