I was far from knowing what years can bring--
the coldness, boredom, and irritation;
I was young when you left me in the dark,
in anguish, and returned to paradise,
Oh my Sun, perhaps I was not up to
the hot passion which stirred you to open
eagle's wings and me to avoid the world's
lies and anger, to scorn, with you, this flesh.
You flew so easily: under your wings
I would've eagerly leapt with you far
from this world's harsh pain. Beloved, alas
that I was not there when you died, without
you, my strength is such anyone may take
me from this life or kill me as they please.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V LIV:54. See also B A2:43:77; R XLVIII:132. Key