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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 |
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Notes: V II:2. From B A1:2:4. See also R LXXVIII:217. Key |
