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It's almost dawn. I imagine my soul's faith reveals she and the Sun are one, and she dwells in Him, welcomed, in His brightness, even if this flesh clings, and cannot be rubbed away--how sweet the final moment melting into the first of that other life, not from the sense of safety the self feels, not at all from courage others have who live in Him, whom one hopes to see. No. It's His presence entering you, shutting out the shadows and fear, the believer's peace when war rages all around--as long as His truth's everything to you, He alone is never wrong, death and life are all one. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V CXLVII:307. See also B S1:171:170. No MSs; Valgrisi 172. Key |
