HEAT
Today is more arduous than the Inferno. Out of doors is an overpowering sun. A blinding splendor devours all the shade, a splendor so steady that it seems solid. I see in everything around me less of immobility than of stupor, an arrested effort. For the earth in these four moons has completed her production. It is time that her spouse kill her, and, unveiling the fire with which he burns, condemn her with an inexorable kiss.
As for me, what shall I say? Ah, if this flaming heat is frightful to my frailty, if my eye turns away, if my body sweats, if I sink on my knees, I will blame this inert flesh; but the virile spirit will soar free in an heroic transport! I feel it, my soul hesitates, but nothing less than the supreme can satisfy this exquisite and terrible jealousy. Let others hide under the earth, obstructing with care the least fissure in their buildings; but a sublime heart, pressed against the sharpness of love, will embrace fire and torture. Sun, redouble thy flames! It is not enough to burn,—consume! My sorrow would be not to suffer enough. May nothing impure escape from the furnace, no blindness from the torture of the light!