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If I am oblivious to the world's
standard of common sense, if I disdain scrutinizing my texts for minute faults, if I don't gussy up and smooth out my rough ignorant lines--well, they're not written for praise, nor so as to escape sneers-- I've turned back to God, known joy, been happy-- well what do I care what the world worships? God's fire burns in me and has transformed my mind--and I throw off fiery sparks almost against my will, wholly by chance. And if but one poem cheers just one gentle heart, it is enough--and I must never stop thanking God that I am mistaken. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: V VI:166. From B S1:4:87. Translation: Lefevre-Deumier 95-6. Stortoni & Lillie 69. Key |
