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His eyes showed my heart the way to his soul,
and I found all that mattered lay in him, in his keeping. My breast was suddenly hollow, contracted tight, breathless, and I cried: "Love, where are you leading me?" nervy, he closed the gap: "why the tangled path you chose, hitherto guarded so warily, so fiercely. You don't want to return home, no longer have the strength, the desire." Reason's no help either. Renunciation? Peace of mind? my wild impulse resists her judicious advice. I've learned not to hope to find my way out of Love's labyrinths: my faults and my strength are in my stars. |
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Notes: B A2:51:81. In MS BoCa. Bullock suggests this poem is to Michelangelo. Key |