To get through life I depend upon a
fleeting dream, gossamer-like thoughts: and then
when broken in upon, confused, and lost--
how hard it is for me to find a path.
For me reality is not the real:
what's real is far other strangely-lit paths
where I hear him speak: "You'll be with me if
only your proud soul will curb this sorrow.
The world's storms, disdain, terrible wounds, death
can't divide us, we loved, acted as one
once fate and this flame made us into one."
I answer: "Your demanding words guide me,
but I need strength, extend your hand, help me
to contend in this Godless pitiless place."
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
V LXVI:66. From B A1:14:10 and Visconti LXVI, 66. See also R CI:292. Key