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That is in the grand style, and so is the following, which describes those sinners locked in the frozen lake below Malebolge: "Weeping itself there does not let them weep, And grief that finds a barrier in the eyes Turns itself inward to increase the anguish. "Lo pianto stesso li pianger non lascia, E il duol, che trova in sugli occhi rintoppo, Si volve in entro a far crescer l' ambascia."
There is passion of the vexed sort, where the tears are frozen to ice as they start. Of the tortured thus, remember "Lo pianto stesso li planger non lascia, E il duol, che trova in su gli occhi rintoppo, Si volve in entro a far crescer l' ambascia." "There may be such people; doubtless there are such people. For me, I find a perpetual outlet in my art." I could not forbear
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