Because you point your wishes at a prize
Where part is lost if it permit largesse,
Envy’s bad bellows move your selfish sighs.
But if the love of the supernal sphere
Heavenward exalted every wish of yours,
Your bosom would not harbor that low fear;
For so much more as there they speak of Ours,
More love in that celestial cloister glows,
And so much more of good each soul secures.”
“Now to be satisfied my hunger grows,”