Now who holds me here? why not free myself
from this dark prison pressing in on me,
this entangled flesh? a thick mist blocks a
beloved light summoning, impelling
me up to him. And if the images
reverie shadows forth--I should say, Love
deep-dyed in my heart--ease the torment,
lick the raw wound, how will it be after
death if a shade can thus gratify me?
But fear of eternal bootless crying
cripples my dauntless wings, could hell be less?
Awake reason, blood, passion--and dare it.
Show others what hidden torment leads to.
People who cannot die can do nothing.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
V CVI:106. From B A1:56:31. See also R LIII:147. Key