L'amor Che Move Il Sole

But If, As Morning Rises, Dreams Are True.

No One Thinks Of How Much Blood It Costs.

When I Had Journeyed Half Of Our Life's Way, I Found Myself Within A Shadowed Forest, For I Had Lost The Path That Does Not Stray.

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?

No Sadness Is Greater Than In Misery To Rehearse Memories Of Joy.