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I see something like a ball, fiery
with countless stars, and one radiant Sun whose warmth and light are felt everywhere-- not like at day's end on earth when all is dark and spent. When will my soul journey into that country beyond the stars--a space so vast I forget what my mind gathers there-- I am lost when I find myself on earth once more, on my paper only a dark outline drawn, a shadow of that Sun--and when I speak to others, my voice is hoarse and weak. Only when He wills us to see, lends us wings, drives the dark away do we fly among the suddenly light-filled clouds. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: V XXXVII:197. See also B S1:65:117 and MS V2 and Valgrisi 65. Key |
