Messer Cino and the Live Coal

"‘His book is but the vesture of her spirit;So too thy poet, that feels the living coalFlame on his lips and leap to song, shall know,To whom the glory, whose the unending merit;Nor faltering shall his utterance be, nor slowThe mute confession of his inmost soul.’"

"Love struck me in the side,And from the wound my soul took wing and flewTo Heaven, and all my prideFell, and I knewThere was no balm could stay that wound so wide."

"Ay me, sharp Death! till what I ask is doneAnd my whole life is ended utterly,—Answer,—must I weep onEven thus, and never cease to moan ay me?"