If I am shaken from my reveries,
I withdraw further from this sordid life
like a ship previously hastening
now motionless in a perilous calm.
How is it my mortal flesh, a woman's--
a fate woven for my pain, confined to
a skirt--is drawn back to earth just as I
find myself within his transcendent light.
If to be with him there satisfies me,
nourishes and keeps me alive, and life
in this prison is grief-filled living death,
how is it the lesser light can destroy
the greater? and the soul be driven from
a noble fate through such low characters.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V XXX:30. See also B A1:54:30; R XCVIII:283. Key