In The Middle Of The

Heaven Wheels Above You, Displaying To You Her Eternal Glories, And Still Your Eyes Are On The Ground.

The Glory Of Him Who Moves Everything Penetrates Through The Universe, And Is Resplendent In One Part More And In Another Less.

Where The Way Is Hardest, There Go Thou; Follow Your Own Path And Let People Talk.

O You, Who In Some Pretty Boat, Eager To Listen, Have Been Following Behind My Ship, That Singing Sails Along Turn Back To Look Again Upon Your Own Shores; Tempt Not The Deep, Lest Unawares, In Losing Me, You Yourselves Might Be Lost. The Sea I Sail Has Never Yet Been Passed; Minerva Breathes, And Pilots Me Apollo, And Muses Nine Point Out To Me The Bears. You Other Few Who Have Neck Uplifted Betimes To The Bread Of Angels Upon Which One Lives And Does Not Grow Sated, Well May You Launch Your Vessel Upon The Deep Sea.

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.