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Among hard rocks and savage winds I try
this life's currents in a frail wooden boat I no longer have the art or mind for: how slow they all are to come to my aid. It took death but a moment to put out my star, linch-pin, faithful support, my light: now in the murky waters, swollen air, there's no help, black tempest, everywhere fear-- not of the pitiless Siren's sweet song, falling broken mangled down these cliffs, by shifting sands overwhelmed, sinking, buried-- only of sailing forever alone where I've sailed too often, now hopelessly, for death has hidden my sanctuary. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: Visconti LXXII:72. See also B A1:53:29 and R XXXVI:108. Translations: Roscoe 100; Tusiani, 173; Allen 7; Gibaldi 37; Stortoni & Lillie 59. Key |
