Love, you know all too well my foot never
shunned the sweet prison, my neck never slipped
its sweet chain, and I never once withheld
or took back all I gave on that first day.
What happened over time never altered
my ancient belief in him: we are knit
as in our first embrace. That I gathered
only bitterness made his return to
my heart no less dear. In me you see all
your sharpest dart performs in a loving
faithful heart: against its power Death can
do nothing. It seems late to call back a
freedom I never cared about--still this
gripping, clutching round my neck slacken just a little.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V XIX:19. See also B A1:45:25; R LXI:173-4. Translations: Andrews 290; Thérault 179-80; McAuliffe 67-8; Gibaldi 36; Stortoni & Lillie 59. Key