Molza, this it is to beat death, to be
true--you have glimpsed your beloved climbing
up the forgotten ever so steep paths
to Paradise; you've drawn timeless splendor
from a humble real story. How happy
you are to sing of your phoenix who lives
in the spheres' starlight--your bright poetry
can transform what is to its opposite.
It was after her body vanished, as
a soul, Dante drew his beloved to
Paradise; she inspired him; but your
beloved felt your love's strength as she lay
dying, was leaving us forever--you,
her Orpheus led her from this hell's night.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V CCXIV:114. See also B E17:211; R CXV:333; MSs F1, L, CASI, Pa, PaI; 1538/9, 1540-2/44-6; 1552/9-60; 1760 Rota. Translation: Thérault 266. A fourth to Francesco Maria Molza; on the death of his mistress, Beatrice Paregia. Key