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Molza, this it is to beat death, to be true--you have glimpsed your beloved climbing up the forgotten ever so steep paths to Paradise; you've drawn timeless splendor from a humble real story. How happy you are to sing of your phoenix who lives in the spheres' starlight--your bright poetry can transform what is to its opposite. It was after her body vanished, as a soul, Dante drew his beloved to Paradise; she inspired him; but your beloved felt your love's strength as she lay dying, was leaving us forever--you, her Orpheus led her from this hell's night. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V CCXIV:114. See also B E17:211; R CXV:333; MSs F1, L, CASI, Pa, PaI; 1538/9, 1540-2/44-6; 1552/9-60; 1760 Rota. Translation: Thérault 266. A fourth to Francesco Maria Molza; on the death of his mistress, Beatrice Paregia. Key |
