I see the Heavens all afire, free
with wounds for me; but scornful and slow to
answer my just longing, and I show but
the scab of deep wounds born, hid in this heart;
I despaired long ago; the burden of
this flesh cannot lighten; against my will
I cross time's thresholds, caught in the seasons'
tedious unwinding, how change my style?
Lucky Portia to put out the fires
consuming her from within by the death
of a fire outside her: fear of death
caused her intrepid death which contracted
the heart's long death: but a deeper fear saps
my will: mine is not the lesser torment.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V CI:101. See also B A1:78:42; R L:141. Translation: Lefèvre-Deumier, 29-30. Written in response to Ludovico Ariosto's Latin epigram, "Non vivam sine, mi Brute, exterrita dixit" (printed by R, pp 381-2 & Lefèvre-Deumier, p 29. Key