A mosaic high on a wall, flakes of
fire, winged, alive, a snake of love,
pictures of people vying, offering
gifts to each other, cupped hands of pure light.
Up there you can make brightness and darkness
without shadows, but the radiant light
that makes them shine so beautifully, clothes,
colors, gives structure to the scene, that's God's.
That woman, there, in the veil, God honored
her flesh second, then nearer the true Son,
inside her was the world's first light-filled dawn
whose glory no living mind can even
faintly shadow, no memory draw on
paper, much less the genius praised for rhymes.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V CXXX:290. See also B S1, 64, 117; MS V2; Valgrisi 64. Translation: Stortoni & Lillie 71. A thirteenth in a series to the Virgin, this time concentrating on a stylized picture in a church, perhaps a stained glass window? Key