Death of Beatrice

Beyond the sphere that circles most widely

passes the sigh that issues from my heart:

new intelligence, that Love

weeping instills within it, drives it upwards.

When it is near where it desires,

it sees a lady, who receives honour,

and is a light, that by its splendour

the pilgrim spirit can gaze upon her.

Seeing her such, when it says so to me,

I do not understand, it speaks so subtly

to the grieving heart, which makes it speak.

I know it speaks of that gentle one,

since it often  mentions Beatrice,

so that I know it truly, ladies dear to me.

After writing this sonetto a miraculous vision appeared to me, in which I saw things which made me decide to write nothing more of this blessed one until such time as I could treat of her more worthily.

    And to achieve this I study as much as I can, as she truly knows. So that, if it pleases Him by whom all things live, that my life lasts a few years, I hope to write of her what has never been written of any woman.

    And then may it be pleasing to Him who is the Lord of courtesy, that my soul might go to see the glory of its lady, that is of that blessed Beatrice, who gloriously gazes on the face of Him qui est per omnia secula benedictus: who is blessed throughout all the ages.