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Remember, my love, my fire, when you
were here, how love moved me to gaze at you, how I longed to climb inside your skin and become you--nothing was so bright as you. I alone held that Mars the Gods envied, grudged me and have shut away--and I pressed his soul into mine--his outward beauty, the pleasure of my eyes was not so dear to me as his spirit when nobly stirred. Thus trembling, eager, I study these sweet gleams ever more gladly, spurning myself and the world as sick and worthless. Light wings of blest passion catch this heavy body-- if I should fall, I shall wake next to him. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: V IX:151. From B A2:46:78. Translation: Thérault 147-8. Key |
