Remember, my love, my fire, when you
were here, how love moved me to gaze at you,
how I longed to climb inside your skin and
become you--nothing was so bright as you.
I alone held that Mars the Gods envied,
grudged me and have shut away--and I pressed
his soul into mine--his outward beauty,
the pleasure of my eyes was not so dear
to me as his spirit when nobly stirred.
Thus trembling, eager, I study these sweet
gleams ever more gladly, spurning myself
and the world as sick and worthless. Light wings
of blest passion catch this heavy body--
if I should fall, I shall wake next to him.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
V IX:151. From B A2:46:78. Translation: Thérault 147-8. Key