If I am oblivious to the world's
standard of common sense, if I disdain
scrutinizing my texts for minute faults,
if I don't gussy up and smooth out my
rough ignorant lines--well, they're not written
for praise, nor so as to escape sneers--
I've turned back to God, known joy, been happy--
well what do I care what the world worships?
God's fire burns in me and has transformed
my mind--and I throw off fiery sparks
almost against my will, wholly by chance.
And if but one poem cheers just one gentle
heart, it is enough--and I must never
stop thanking God that I am mistaken.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
V VI:166. From B S1:4:87. Translation: Lefevre-Deumier 95-6. Stortoni & Lillie 69. Key