Living hope kept my heart alive: I had
placed the roots down carefully, tended her;
a noble soil promised consoling fruit.
But death came and ripped out all the flowers.
Just I stood waiting, watching him
near this lovely shore the serene light
was cut off by a cold dark mist--my sweet
nectar turned to raw poison; only
through pain can I remember him, and this
fire gnawing at me from within. Then
I seem to hear his voice made stronger,
ah a harmony, heaven's? Dazzling light
strikes my eyes, and I feel my sun in me--
What will it be when I escape this flesh?
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
V LVII:57. From Bullock A1, 3, 4 See also R LXXIII:204. Translation: Stortoni & Lillie 55. Key