My dear Lord

 My dear Lord, if I had not believed with great conviction that I made clear in Rome the rather immeasurable love that I feel for you, it would not make me feel strange, nor would I be surprised by the great concern you displayed when I failed to write back, concerned that I would forget you. But this is nothing new, nor might it be admirable, for many things fail to go the way you expect them to, and it would follow that this too would turn upside down. That which your Lordship says to me, I would air to him as well; but perhaps that is done to test me, or to relight a new and greater fire, if greater is possible. 

But be it as you like: I know well that I can, at that very moment, forget your name, the food that gives me life. Rather, I can first forget the food that gives me life, that which unsuccessfully nourishes the body. Your name nourishes the body and the soul, filling one and the other with such sweetness. As I preserve the memory of you, I feel neither boredom nor fear of death. Think, if the eyes could still play their part, what state would I find myself in?