|Once we had crossed the threshold of the gate
|not used by souls whose twisted love
|tries to make the crooked way seem straight,
|I knew that it had shut by its resounding.
|And had I turned my eyes to look,
|how could I have excused my fault?
|We were climbing through a crevice in the rock,
|which first bent one way, then another,
|like a wave that ebbs and then comes rushing back,
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