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I made my beloved an Apollo, a sacred being who was the last of earth's great kings; oh my dear, decked in splendor, self-borne on wings you flew to Paradise. Early on to give your friends noble strength you armed them with faith and love; when you left your soul on fire, there came a sense of your presence luminous with love for God. The sceptre of an emperor was yours; you made life go well, honored God, you were the valued heir of your great family. Only through faith, I, though exiled from you, rejoice in your eternal life, hope through you to know peace in that elysium. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V CLXXXV:345. See also B A2:22:66; 1552/59-60, 1760 Rota (as a religious poem). Key |
