Sonnet LXXXIII

SONNET LXXXIII.
 
Volo con l' ali de' pensieri al cielo.
 
HE SEEMS TO BE WITH HER IN HEAVEN.
 
 
So often on the wings of thought I flyUp to heaven's blissful seats, that I appearAs one of those whose treasure is lodged there,The rent veil of mortality thrown by.A pleasing chillness thrills my heart, while IListen to her voice, who bids me paleness wear—"Ah! now, my friend, I love thee, now revere,For changed thy face, thy manners," doth she cry.She leads me to her Lord: and then I bow,Preferring humble prayer, He would allowThat I his glorious face, and hers might see.Thus He replies: "Thy destiny's secure;To stay some twenty, or some ten years more,Is but a little space, though long it seems to thee."
 
Nott.

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