Chosen spirit, who died before your time,
whose merit led to joyful flight to God:
if the light you bore was like your courage,
each star, as you passed, was overshadowed.
Victorious: there you rejoice, here you
show us clearly a vast, clearly-defined,
steep road of honor: you left a pattern
your image deeply dyed on every heart.
Those who followed you are happy today:
if one can't reach the mark, she who praises
virtue makes and shares in eternity.
God showed his great strength, Nature new beauty
in you. Today's men don't understand real
splendor: you remain a rare trick of fate.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From Visconti LXXI:71. See also B A1:50:28; R XXIX:93. Key