Do Ye Not Comprehend That

Sta Come Torre Ferma, Che Non Crolla Giammai La Cima Per Soffiar De' Venti. Be Steadfast As A Tower That Doth Not Bend Its Stately Summit To The Tempest's Shock.

No Man May Be So Cursed By Priest Or Pope But What The Eternal Love May Still Return While Any Thread Of Green Lives On In Hope.

Love Is The Source Of Every Virtue In You And Of Every Deed Which Deserves Punishment.

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

The Infernal Storm, Eternal In Its Rage, Sweeps And Drives The Spirits With Its Blast; It Whirls Them, Lashing Them With Punishment. When They Are Swept Back Past Their Place Of Judgment Then Come The Shrieks, Laments, And Anguished Cries; There They Blaspheme God's Almighty Power.