If You Follow Your Natural Bent;you Will

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

In That Part Of The Book Of My Memory Before Which Little Can Be Read, There Is A Heading, Which Says: ‘incipit Vita Nova: Here Begins The New Life’.

At Grief So Deep The Tongue Must Wag In Vain; The Language Of Our Sense And Memory Lacks The Vocabulary Of Such Pain.

Here My Powers Rest From Their High Fantasy, But Already I Could Feel My Being Turned- Instinct And Intellect Balanced Equally. As In A Wheel Whose Motion Nothing Jars- By The Love That Moves The Sun And The Other Stars.

Here We Find The Moat Of Thieves. And Just As A Lizard, With A Quick, Slick Slither, Flicks Across The Highway From Hedge To Hedge, Fleeter Than A Flash, In The Battering Dog-day Weather, A Fiery Little Monster, Livid, In A Rage, Black As Any Peppercorn, Came And Made A Dart At The Guts Of The Others, And Leaping To Engage One Of The Pair, It Pierced Him At The Part Through Which We First Draw Food; Then Loosed Its Grip And Fell Before Him, Outstretched And Apart.