I'd barely reached consciousness when I was
told my aim in life was to be a boy
who seemed to me a god, whose light I was
to follow, who'd always care for me most
tenderly. Why then am I now exiled
from the welcome retreat, sanctuary.
What stern decree has forbid my support,
daylight; lost, I stumble like one gone blind.
If we found ourselves inseparable through
passion and our vows, why have we parted?
what malign enemy has cut us off?
If his life fed my frail woman's body,
if I was born for him, was his, and he's
taken from me, with his death I must die.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V XXXVI:36. See also B A1:22:14; R XLV:123-4. Translations Roscoe 26; Lawley 3-4. Key