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This brightly shining sun that cheers our eyes I once saw through a burden of disdain, grievous injury, envy; now I see its lovely earth, brilliant transparent sky-- it no longer contends with my Apollo who unfolds a dazzling light in paradise, filled, stirred by a holy adoration in the eternal day of the true Sun. Their radiance, warmth, and nobility stirs, draws me so that the earth's sun becomes to me sick, dull, strangely colored and dark. Nature's works are fleeting, soon gone; I find peace only in permanance, goodness; thus I despise your sun, turn proudly to mine. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From R XXXIX:112 and V XXXIII:33. See also B A1:21:13. Key |
