|
When my tormented heart contracts with pain,
aches until I long to die, a sense of dread assails me and I hear these words: "What use is an early death if you end up far away from your beautiful Sun? This chill of fear gives rise to hot desire, my soul finds wings to shut out what the world demands, and I slip off the burden of my flesh. Yes, I hide myself and fend off human pleasure, not for fame or applause, nor out of inordinate self-esteem, rather to feel his light always calling to me, to see his face wherever I look: to let him be judge of all I do. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
|
Notes: V XCV:95. From B A1:72:39. See also R LV:151 Key |
