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If I thought my poetry matched his worth,
my tears adequate to express this grief, if I knew I'd placed him beyond all this world boasts of, I'd bear this anguish better. But I tremble when I raise my mortal's voice--it hurts me to sing directly of him, of that paradisal light I felt when I was with him; my memories are painful and melt my words into tears. Yet to conquer the relentlessness of time and regret, the harshness I remember, I speak of my Sun. Alas to me he was so beautiful I've no will or choice: I really just yield to all Love commands. |
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Notes: From B A2:16:63. In MS's: RA, V1, Ve2. Key |