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I was like the man whose face a dense dark
haze cuts off from the clear steps of a bright anticipated voyage; but since he's habituated to walk this way--no, out of prudence--is led somehow obscurely to follow the right: thus when I first lost my husband whose radiant light death stole from me the memory of his splendor kept my mind clear, my feet firm. But now a black, a terrible night's all round me, only within the kind lovely day, so I turn playfully, lovingly towards my star: I would try, I'd run so lightly, if someone will show me, where is my Sun. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: V LXXXVII:87. From B A1:80:43. In MS F1, CASI, COR, Pa1, V1, Ve2. Key |
