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Pain and sorrow issue out of my heart: I find my eyes wet, my breast constricted; the earth seems to weep, and wherever I go or look I can only find people who hurt and sadden me. Since my husband, whom I always physically longed for, the world's cynosure of honor, died, cut off in his life's springtime, I'll always be desolate. A little earth covers his body, but his reputation and chivalry live forever while his soul rejoices in the spheres' glad music. Envious fates prompt to maim me, how right you are to boast you never broke a knot equal to ours. |
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Notes: From B A2:11:61; MS CAS. S See AB's "Three New Poems by VC," Italian Studies 24 (1969), 49-50. Key |