See this ivy, props broken, burnt, worn down;
it lacks support, cannot sustain itself;
so it withdraws to seek strength from within,
but there is nothing there to build upon.
This is the soul who has thought and acted
with the world in mind, used, used up, repulsed
at what then remains within because she
aspired to live a moral life; and
stunted humanity scarcely let her
alone to try. Why not run to the tree,
climb, wind, knit your roots to that high summit?
The Father wants you to wrap yourself round
that prop, the cross which upholds, a holy
tree He at first tied you to so gently.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V CLXXVIII:338. See also B S2:8:181; no MSs; 1548 Valgrisi; 1693 Bulifon; 1760 Rota. Translation: Lefèvre-Deumier 103-4; Stortoni & Lillie 73. Key