Happy spirits--how gay you are, around
you are the nymphs of poetry, what you wish
to say comes easily--you know where to
find the sacred spring's source and how to gain
the respect we all want. You offer me
your skilled help, your hand. Teach me the art
to climb this hill. I humbly search to find
your steps so I can share this happiness.
I don't aim to add light to a sun--to
to engrave my name by his on paper,
to lay my body next to his--I was part
of him, his opinion of me was me--
Just so his light won't melt my words like snow
Just so my anguished heart can find relief.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
V XCVI:96. From B A1:75:40 (ll. 7-8: "cercando vo con vergognosa fronte/l'orma che scorge"); R IX:32. Key