When my tormented heart contracts with pain,

When my tormented heart contracts with pain,
aches until I long to die, a sense of
dread assails me and I hear these words: "What
use is an early death if you end up

far away from your beautiful Sun? This
chill of fear gives rise to hot desire,
my soul finds wings to shut out what the world
demands, and I slip off the burden of

my flesh. Yes, I hide myself and fend off
human pleasure, not for fame or applause,
nor out of inordinate self-esteem,

rather to feel his light always calling
to me, to see his face wherever I
look: to let him be judge of all I do.
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition
V XCV:95. From B A1:72:39. See also R LV:151 Key

Amaro Lagrimar
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