When drained by these sweet reveries, I find
myself swept away to the water's shore--
dissolved into sleep--and see an image--
and a different kind of illusion, more
like reality. My reveries mark,
lighten my grim days; my dreams, the bleak nights,
if once opening my eyes sustained me,
now closing them prevents my perishing.
And if through memory his wounded body,
--and through sleep his noble face--with time come
ever closer, feel ever more distinct,
my urgent need renews these blessed dreams,
and if it's true I flee real hope and peace,
isn't it always said great strength arms faith?
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
V XLIVIII:43. From B A1:20:13. See also R C:290. Translation: Thérault, 188-9. Key