Love encircled me in an awesome flame:
consciousness, time, all but that flame vanished;
it's not that I shrink from a renewal:
he took from me all that I had to give.
My dazzling chain engaged me completely,
and I scorn anything less demanding--
consumed by wild fire, tied down fast, how
can you think I could know other hope, fear?
Love plunged his most poignant dart into me
made an immortal wound which is my shield
against every other erotic knot.
For me he lit a torch which makes light dark;
he broke the bow when he hurled his arrow,
smashed these snares placed here to entangle me.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V XVIII:18. See also B A1:7:6; R LIX:166. Translations: in English: Roscoe, 103; in French: Lefèvre Deumier, 25; Key