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I envy the suicidal, so keep
my wings ready, close, next to me that no distance between earth and Sun keep me from reaching my beloved who awakens my desire. Maybe I could drown in blind oblivion the memories of joy grief seizes on, staggering the heart until confused I forget such flight can't get me what I want, all while I seek to look into his eyes here on earth. Reason tells me he dwells serenely elsewhere; how can this give me peace? I'll stick to my aim, as long as my body breathes this lovely air, though these paths are quite steep for my poor feet. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: V LXX:70. From B A2:14:62. See also R XCI:262 and commentary. Key |
