The More A Thing Is Perfect, The

Abandon Every Hope, You Who Enter.

Your Fame Is As The Grass, Whose Hue Comes And Goes, And His Might Withers It By Whose Power It Sprang From The Lap Of The Earth.

As Fall The Light Autumnal Leaves, One Still The Other Following, Till The Bough Strews All Its Honors On The Earth Below.

No Man May Be So Cursed By Priest Or Pope But What The Eternal Love May Still Return While Any Thread Of Green Lives On In Hope.

Through Me You Pass Into The City Of Woe: Through Me You Pass Into Eternal Pain: Through Me Among The People Lost For Aye. Justice The Founder Of My Fabric Moved: To Rear Me Was The Task Of Power Divine, Supremest Wisdom, And Primeval Love. Before Me Things Create Were None, Save Things Eternal, And Eternal I Shall Endure. All Hope Abandon, Ye Who Enter Here.