[XXXV]
SENTO D’UN FOCO UN FREDDO ASPETTO ACCESO
I See a face that in itself is cold,
Yet lit with fire that burneth me afar;
Two arms, that quiet and unmoving are,
Whereby all else is moved and controlled;
The vision of a beauty I behold,
Immortal, yet pursuing me to death;
A power that free, my own envelopeth;
Another’s balm, that may my hurt enfold.