By losing myself in a deepening
dream my lovely wanderer is always
with me. I bear him carved into my heart,
as vivid as if he were really here.
On the gentle breath of his radiance
like a bird my ecstatic spirit flies
high to Paradise, far from this world, free
from mortal cares, moving lightly at last.
A scissors cut the single noble thread
which twisted our lives into one; he's gone
and the life I lived through him is vanished.
He who was everything to me is now
with God--but I know a luminous peace,
waiting, reason suspended, in a dream.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
V II:2. From B A1:2:4. See also R LXXVIII:217. Key