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Living hope kept my heart alive: I had
placed the roots down carefully, tended her; a noble soil promised consoling fruit. But death came and ripped out all the flowers. Just I stood waiting, watching him near this lovely shore the serene light was cut off by a cold dark mist--my sweet nectar turned to raw poison; only through pain can I remember him, and this fire gnawing at me from within. Then I seem to hear his voice made stronger, ah a harmony, heaven's? Dazzling light strikes my eyes, and I feel my sun in me-- What will it be when I escape this flesh? |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: V LVII:57. From Bullock A1, 3, 4 See also R LXXIII:204. Translation: Stortoni & Lillie 55. Key |
