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Like The Lark That Soars In The Air, First Singing, Then Silent, Content With The Last Sweetness That Satiates It, Such Seemed To Me That Image, The Imprint Of The Eternal Pleasure.

Ah! Justice Of Our God! Who Else Could Stow Such Travails New And Pains As Met My Glance!

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’.

In The Midway Of This Our Mortal Life, I Found Me In A Gloomy Wood, Astray, Gone From The Path Direct.

To Course Across More Kindly Waters Now My Talent's Little Vessel Lifts Her Sails, Leaving Behind Herself A Sea So Cruel; And What I Sing Will Be That Second Kingdom, In Which The Human Soul Is Cleansed Of Sin, Becoming Worthy Of Ascent To Heaven.