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Love, you know all too well my foot never shunned the sweet prison, my neck never slipped its sweet chain, and I never once withheld or took back all I gave on that first day. What happened over time never altered my ancient belief in him: we are knit as in our first embrace. That I gathered only bitterness made his return to my heart no less dear. In me you see all your sharpest dart performs in a loving faithful heart: against its power Death can do nothing. It seems late to call back a freedom I never cared about--still this gripping, clutching round my neck slacken just a little. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V XIX:19. See also B A1:45:25; R LXI:173-4. Translations: Andrews 290; Thérault 179-80; McAuliffe 67-8; Gibaldi 36; Stortoni & Lillie 59. Key |
