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When drained by these sweet reveries, I find
myself swept away to the water's shore-- dissolved into sleep--and see an image-- and a different kind of illusion, more like reality. My reveries mark, lighten my grim days; my dreams, the bleak nights, if once opening my eyes sustained me, now closing them prevents my perishing. And if through memory his wounded body, --and through sleep his noble face--with time come ever closer, feel ever more distinct, my urgent need renews these blessed dreams, and if it's true I flee real hope and peace, isn't it always said great strength arms faith? |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: V XLIVIII:43. From B A1:20:13. See also R C:290. Translation: Thérault, 188-9. Key |
