The branches you talk of on one sacred
tree rooted together in the earth were
not the same: his were fresh and green, mine, black
and withered; we all know Love's fruits differ.
Perhaps I could match this felicitous
style you talk of if with my beloved
I'd climbed to Parnassus and Paradise
like the loving Laura and Beatrice.
I must be content to immortalize
him on earth by speaking to him alone
in rare unworldly ways: my flight is into
solitude, reverie. By leaning on
him, I, though sad and low, cannot stumble:
I walk with dignity in his honor.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V XCVIII:98. See also B A2:17:64; MS L; 1538-9, 1692, 1760 Rota. The context and interlocutor of this poem is in dispute: I follow Pompeo Colonna's recent biographer, AConsorti, in translating it as to Vittoria's cousin in response to one of his (printed Visconti, p. 428) Key