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Since excellence derives from the vision and understanding of the mind trying to create it, where God's brightest realm is, dull spiteful souls, envious, can see only shadows. And if, unless we, like the angels, dwell with Him, lies will drive out truth, one's eyes twist to stare at the oblivion of self, alas, what must I, entangled, burdened by this earth, fear? We love ourselves too much, from Eve to the last of her sons, self-love the enemy's weapon, maims, destroys us. Those who fly to God so as not to fall on life's roads pray without pride to Him to stir this air closing in on me, lift wings |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V XXIV:184. See also B S1:48:109. No MSs; Valgrisi 48. Key |
