But if, as morning rises, dreams are true.

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It was the hour of morning, when the sun mounts with those stars that shone with it when God’s own love first set in motion those fair things.

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I found myself within a forest dark, for the straightfoward pathway had been lost. Ah me! How hard a thing is to say, what was this forest savage, rough, and stern, which in the very thought renews the fear. So bitter is it, death is little more.

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There is no greater pain than to remember, in our present grief, past happiness.

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Through me you go into a city of weeping; through me you go into eternal pain; through me you go amongst the lost people.

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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.

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Now you know how much my love for you burns deep in me when I forget about our emptiness, and deal with shadows as with solid things.

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Lost are we, and are only so far punished, That without hope we live on in desire.

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At grief so deep the tongue must wag in vain; the language of our sense and memory lacks the vocabulary of such pain.

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For she doth make my veins and pulses tremble.

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