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Sometimes the roused mind soars as if on wings
of faith and hope, made, transformed, translated by God to where I see round beneath me air and earth to the furthest horizons. I surmount the spheres, surpass, leave behind now this, now that group of angels, because I believe I'm God's daughter and heir, and I talk with Him, just we two, side by side. Ever kind, he doesn't examine or disdain my faults or nature, sees only the radiant love compelling me forth. He shows me how he bled from his right side, gives me his wounded hand and offers me pity and together we sit talking. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: V XXXVI:196. See also B S1:66:118. From Valgrisi 66. Key |
