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There is no humble place here; no mother's gentle kind respectful arms, no shepherds, no sweet love from a reverent old man, no joyful noble angelic voices; no magnificent gifts from wise kings, who marvel at the child, no adoration-- still You are here and we are worshipping You, dear God, our Master who made all things. I know it's true You were born here on earth, and am gripped by devotion--not envy-- and grieve not I wasn't alive then, that now is so sad, but that I am desolate, wretched since still I'm not illumined by the burning love they had who saw Him then. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V CXCIV:354. See also B S1:21:95; in MS V2 (Caruso f.30); Valgrisi 21. A twenty-second in the series meditating Christ. Another nativity sonnet, perhaps written on a Christmas day. Key |
