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I don't want the light, and withdraw to dwell far away from a heedless ruthless time so I can regain strength to raise my face, to think about you, blessed spirit, and pray: let him I called my beloved son, but who acted as, and became your son expiate all wrong; shine your light, rouse him, he was indeed truly honorable, now a white lily among flowers in green fields--oh, pour down sunlit vapour, life- giving grace on this bit of fertile earth, so on the world's long shore line I may sense the sweet fragrance he hid within him in this lovely fresh water and serene light. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V CLXI:321. See also B S1:178:174; Valgrisi 179. On the death of Alfonso d'Avalos, 31 March, 1546, of a burning fever; she died on the afternoon of February 25, 1547. This was hard to bear while translating. Key |
