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Happy spirits--how gay you are, around
you are the nymphs of poetry, what you wish to say comes easily--you know where to find the sacred spring's source and how to gain the respect we all want. You offer me your skilled help, your hand. Teach me the art to climb this hill. I humbly search to find your steps so I can share this happiness. I don't aim to add light to a sun--to to engrave my name by his on paper, to lay my body next to his--I was part of him, his opinion of me was me-- Just so his light won't melt my words like snow Just so my anguished heart can find relief. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: V XCVI:96. From B A1:75:40 (ll. 7-8: "cercando vo con vergognosa fronte/l'orma che scorge"); R IX:32. Key |
