There is no humble place here; no mother's
gentle kind respectful arms, no shepherds,
no sweet love from a reverent old man,
no joyful noble angelic voices;
no magnificent gifts from wise kings, who
marvel at the child, no adoration--
still You are here and we are worshipping
You, dear God, our Master who made all things.
I know it's true You were born here on earth,
and am gripped by devotion--not envy--
and grieve not I wasn't alive then, that now
is so sad, but that I am desolate,
wretched since still I'm not illumined by
the burning love they had who saw Him then.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V CXCIV:354. See also B S1:21:95; in MS V2 (Caruso f.30); Valgrisi 21. A twenty-second in the series meditating Christ. Another nativity sonnet, perhaps written on a Christmas day. Key