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A luminous presence, warm radiance leaves the faithful happy, secure--God's grace, this hard dense thick-ribbed frozen ice congealed, wrapped round the heart, suddenly often melts, the clinging shadows of my errors fall from me, and I feel warmth, am clothed in love-- bright, innocent, child-like, unqualified-- through powerfully burning beautiful light-- but if I try to hold on to this presence, with a sort of mysterious trusty key-it slips away, shuns me subtly--low cunning drives it scornful away. A wrenching movement, flight, sadness--may I be freed from vileness so He may come to me. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V VIII:168. See also B S1:9:89. Translation: Roscoe 323. Key |
