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|
From V CXLVII:307. See also B S1:171:170. No MSs; Valgrisi 172. Key