I live on these dreadful and lonely rocks
like a grieving bird who loathes the green trees
and fresh water; I shun those walking this earth
I love; I am escaping from myself.
Here I am immediately with him;
and when I cannot feel the Sun I long
to touch, I can turn my thoughts away from
all else and ready my wings to seek him.
A sudden wind; my eager wings beating,
I reach him, and know deep, if fleeting, joy
far surpassing any earthly pleasure.
If I could see his face and body as
I can command and lose myself in dreams,
I would know something of God's perfection.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
V VI:148. From B A2:15:63. Translations: Roscoe 96-7; Lawley 151-2; Lefèvre-Deumier 47; Thérault 193-4; Barnstone 305; Tusiani 175; Gibaldi 38. Key