I don't forgive my heart when I offend,
nor do you ask me, my Lord, endlessly
to blame myself: on the cross Your Son bore
away one of my terrors; in Heaven
He removes another; here He paid, there
He makes You see how I came to misspend
so many years, and the age-old traps and
new lies the world and one's opponents set
up as bait. Noble and just, He hides me,
unjust, vile, under His sheltering cloak
that disguises His presence and that His
works are His. I show Him my sadness, cry
over my faults, not armed with "I did this,"
but shielded by faith no-one can destroy.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V CLVIII:318. See also B S1:176:173; no MSs; Valgrisi 177. A twenty-third sonnet in a series meditating Christ. Key