If I thought my poetry matched his worth,
my tears adequate to express this grief,
if I knew I'd placed him beyond all this
world boasts of, I'd bear this anguish better.
But I tremble when I raise my mortal's
voice--it hurts me to sing directly of
him, of that paradisal light I felt
when I was with him; my memories are
painful and melt my words into tears. Yet
to conquer the relentlessness of time
and regret, the harshness I remember,
I speak of my Sun. Alas to me he
was so beautiful I've no will or choice:
I really just yield to all Love commands.
From B A2:16:63. In MS's: RA, V1, Ve2. Key