dejame en este campo llorando

The dove descending breaks the air

With flame of incandescent terror
Of which the tongues declare
The one discharge from sin and error.
The only hope, or else despair
Lies in the choice of pyre of pyre—

To be redeemed from fire by fire.

Who then devised the torment? Love.
Love is the unfamiliar Name
Behind the hands that wove
The intolerable shirt of flame
Which human power cannot remove.
We only live, only suspire

Consumed by either fire or fire.

LITTLE GIDDING
(No. 4 of ‘Four Quartets’)

T.S. Eliot

Don't Surrender your lonliness

So quickly,

Let it cut more deep.

-Hafiz