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If the Father of us all shortchanged me,
now hides him from me, my sweet Sun who was my life--and hides me from him--I do see with a kind of stark clarity a Sun to worship at, an eternal light whose warmth teaches me the sweetness I ache for is not good for me, but the more indulged in, the more I get used to its presence, the more it pains and troubles my mind. I know this. Today there came a halo of light, cheerful, warming, gone the dense cold mists my heart gets so lost in--gazing, trembling avid I wait: maybe this night's ending, and a rebirth in me at last will come. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: V CXXXI:291. From B S1:147:158. See also Valgrisi 148. Key |
