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My eyes, darkened is our sun, disappeared the light of my life: my hope, that he'd be the brave captain, led him to reach Heaven where it's no miracle God wanted him. And if he's as kind as he used to be, if death hasn't made him forget, his feet have made a path for me--and perhaps--or what hope have I?--he's hurt by my delay. Why did not all the air, earth, and seas cry at the death of honesty, courtesy, and reason, when this strong heart was buried? My new freedom has brought me only grief since death took him who understood--Heaven showed such a man could be, then reclaimed him. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V LVIII:58. See also B A1:15:10; R XXXI:98. A centone; it repeats the first line of Petrarch's Sonnet 275 ("Occhi miei, oscurato e 'l nostro sole" (Durling pp 455-6: "My eyes, darkened is our sun"...) and plays upon our memory of it. Key |
