>Dante's courtly love for Beatrice continued for nine years, before the pair finally met again. This meeting occurred in a street of Florence, which she walked along dressed in white and accompanied by two older women. She turned and greeted him, her salutation filling him with such joy that he retreated to his room to think about her. In doing so, he fell asleep, and had a dream which would become the subject of the first sonnet in La Vita Nuova
one of ours
one of ours
I don't know why but anything related to Dante and Beatrice moves me like a bitch
Source: La Vita Nuova.
>tfw Dante was already deeper than you in his 20s
Damn
>retreated to his room to think about her
>In doing so, he fell asleep
The only source of this is Vita Nuova so you're taking your facts from a work of fiction? LMAO
nigger what
mustve beat that stick dry.
Why do you praise this loser, again?
I love his works
what wat?
Imagine if she actually kissed him and took him for marriage.
then there wouldn't have been romance and poetry.
Why would he lie about such things?
I mean, in the Vita Nuova he says how he chose another woman to deceive the others into thinking that it was her he was actually in love with, not Beatrice. He goes as far as making poems for that woman. You can't make this shit up.
>the most talented and celebrated poet of all time is a beta cuck
you cannot make this shit up
You are the only loser here
There came into my mind
the gentle lady whom Love weeps for,
at the moment when her virtue
drew you to gaze at what I made.
Amor, who felt her in his mind,
was woken in my ravaged heart,
and said to my sighs: ‘Go now’:
so that each departed sadly.
They went weeping from my chest
with a voice that often brings
woeful tears to my sad eyes.
But those that issued with the greatest pain,
came saying: ‘O noble intellect,
it was a year ago you leapt to Heaven.’
Sounds like he ran away to jerk off and had a wet dream instead.
All I encounter in my mind dies,
when I come to gaze on you, sweet joy:
and when I am near you, I feel Love
who says: ‘Run, if you care about dying’.
The face shows the colour of the heart,
that, fainting, leans for support:
and in the vast intoxicating tremor
the stones beneath me cry: Death, death.
They commit a sin who see me then,
if they do not comfort my bewildered soul,
if only by showing that they care for me,
through pity, which your mocking killed,
that is descried in the dying vision
of eyes that have wished for death.
>her salutation filling him with such joy that he retreated to his room to think about he
yeah I think we all know what he was doing and why he needed a nap afterwards
>implying a fiction work has anything to do whatsover with "truth"
Roman Erotic Elegy by Paul Veyne and stop being this pleb.
audible kek