The dove descending breaks the airWith flame of incandescent terrorOf which the tongues declare The
The dove descending breaks the airWith flame of incandescent terrorOf which the tongues declare The one discharge from sin and error.The only hope, or else despair Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre- To be redeemed from fire by fire.Who then devised the torment? Love.Love is the unfamiliar Name Behind the hands that woveThe intolerable shirt of flameWhich human power cannot remove. We only live, only suspire Consumed by either fire or fire. T.S. Eliot (and a thought from the author that explains why I post so much poetry:“Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.”) -- source link