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If I am shaken from my reveries, I withdraw further from this sordid life like a ship previously hastening now motionless in a perilous calm. How is it my mortal flesh, a woman's-- a fate woven for my pain, confined to a skirt--is drawn back to earth just as I find myself within his transcendent light. If to be with him there satisfies me, nourishes and keeps me alive, and life in this prison is grief-filled living death, how is it the lesser light can destroy the greater? and the soul be driven from a noble fate through such low characters. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V XXX:30. See also B A1:54:30; R XCVIII:283. Key |
