" L’ avversa stella mia, l’ empia fortuna
Scoperser poi l’ irate inique fronti,
Dal cui furor cruda procella insorge.
Venti, pioggia, saette il Cielo aduna,
Mostri d’ intorno a divorarmi pronti;
Ma l’ alma ancor sua tramontana scorge. "
Vittoria Colonna
(sonetto VI)
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