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As heat from our great burning star melts ice,
as the turbulent North Winds scatter clouds, so does my beloved not permit me cowardly and sordid thoughts in my heart. When my master enters his home, my mind dismisses thoughts that are his enemies; I remember his splendor; my other cares irrelevant, fade, do not matter, all's spent. If this is what I am on earth, what will it be when I slip off this flesh, this mortal weight, and nothing lies between me and paradise. I'm only afraid my joy in his presence won't let me see a greater--and burn with love for my God. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: V III:145. See also B A1:85:46. Key |
