Weak, sick, and blind, in the darkness I run

Weak, sick, and blind, in the darkness I run
to the one Sun I've always loved, appeal
to Him; naked I long for golden rain;
cold, and soft as wax, I draw near His flame;

unsure of myself, diffident, I trust
in His life-giving bounty, His vast wealth:
His true warm love restores and transforms me;
I hope for sanity, for inward wealth

once more. Made strong I see Him, not through my
but His light, and I thank him with love He
gave me. The weight lifts, no longer driven

wild by vain longings, quicksilver light, armed
with eternity's radiant wings I
fly home to Paradise with my Master.

An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition
From V XVIII:178. See also B S1:52:111; R VI:409. MSs L, V2. Key

Amaro Lagrimar
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