Selected poems from Michelangelo Buonarroti, with translations from various sources

And yet there is no personal allusion or recognition of a want of the natural domestic ties dear to the heart: Human life, all mortal forms, are but the ' outward expression of spiritual life. He never rests in the outward and material, but sees it only as now conceal- 1 ing, now revealing, the inward idea, — " The more the marble wastes, the more the statue grows. He feels deep grief when it bears away his beloved ones, but he recognizes it as a I sure friend which is to end all sorrows: It is therefore possible to draw very varying inferences from his expressions in regard to his religious convictions.

The more definite allusions to Christian theology in his later poems may be attributed to the influence of his friends Vittoria Colonna and the Cardinal Beccadelli; while the boldness and freedom of his thought in the poem on the death of his father recalls his early admira- tion for the prophet Savonarola. That Michelangelo was truly an idealist in Art is evi- dent: The Beautiful is always an image of the Divine, and the only reason for loving it in outward form is that it brings us near to the eternal fountain of Love.

So closely were Keligion, Art, and Love blended in his thought that it is sometimes impossible to tell to which he refers in his poems. The remorse which often oppresses him for the false love which has deluded him is that keen sense of unworthiness which haunts every sen- sitive soul worshipping the ideal, and by no means implies any moral fault in his life.

His contemporaries, especially Condivi, bear emphatic testimony to the temperance and purity of his thought, speech, and life. His love of poetry 1 John Edward Taylor has given a full analysis of Michelangelo's phi- losophy in his admirable book "Michelangelo considered as a Philosophic Foet. How highly he rever- enced the great poet of his country is shown by his noble sonnets to Dante, and by his illustrating the Divina Commedia with designs which — alas for us!

But no biography gives us so intimate an acquaintance with the heart and life of this man as the poems, which were the delight, solace, and relief of his lonely days. The many different readings show that they were dear to him ; and we can often trace his efforts to give the exact shade of thought which he longed to express.

• Einfach Mensch: Das Unmögliche wagen für unsere Welt (German Edition)?
• Wynter;
• Yesterday Today (Forward Cycle Series Book 2).
• CONTES DE MORTS ET DE RESURRECTIONS (French Edition).
• Day Of Reckoning.

They prove how utterly superficial is the judgment which denies to him tenderness and piety, and the most intense longing for the love and communion of his fellow-beings; yet too often j solitude and loneliness were his lot, — how keenly felt, is shown in these poetic revelations. Life was very serious to him ; and in an age so luxurious and frivolous, solitude seemed the only fitting companion- ship.

And yet Donato Giannotti, who knew him well, makes him say, in his Dialogues: His sympathies were sq profound and intense that he felt obliged to hold himself 1 See Appendix, p. Greatness and goodness are nearly allied ; the more closely we study the life of this artist, whose colossal in- tellect and stern will give him rank among the very highest names in history, the more do we find the purity and truth of his moral nature and the depth of his affec- tions ; and we learn anew the great truth that intellectual development alone may make monsters, but only when heart and head work together can we have a true artist.

First edition, London, ; second, London, ; third, London, Michelangelo considered as a Philosophic Poet. By John Edward Taylor.

Full text of "Selected poems from Michelangelo Buonarroti, with translations from various sources"

London, ; second edition, Lon- don, The Life of M. Buonarroti, with translations of many of his poems and letters. Also memoirs of Savonarola, Raphael, and Vittoria Colonna. By John Addington Symonds. Destala, se not credi, e parleratti. Caro m' e '1 sonno, e piu 1' esser di sasso, Mentre che '1 danno e la vergogna dura: Non veder, non sentir, m' e gran ventura ; Per6 non mi destar, deh! To see not, hear not, is my greatest gain ; So pray speak low, and do not waken me. Chi non vuol delle foglie, Non ci venga di maggio.

On the front of a gate. Who not leaves would bear away, Must not come to us in May. Love is a conceit of Beauty: He who bears it in his heart Is the gentle friend of Duty. Deh serbi, s' e di me pietate alcuna, Che qui son ehiuso e dal mondo disciolto, Le lacrime a bagniarsi il petto e 1 volto Per chi resta suggetto alia fortuna.

Non volse morte non ancider senza L' arme degli anni e de' superchi giorni La belta che qui giace, accio c' or torni Al ciel con la non persa sua presenza. Qui son sepulto, e poco innanzi nato Ero: Death wisned to strike, without the heavier blow Of weary years or overweight of days, The beauty that lies here, that seen in heavenly rays. We still his earthly countenance might know.

Here am I buried, — I who, born but late, Stern death hath smitten with so quick a blow, That scarcely doth my unclothed spirit know That it hath changed its early heavenly state. L' alma di dentro di fuor non vedea, Come noi, il volto chiuso in questo avello: Che se nel ciel non e albergo si bello, Trarnela morte gia ma' non potea. Qui son morto creduto ; e per conforto Del mondo vissi, e con mille alme in seno Di veri amanti ; adunche, a venir meno, Per tormen' una sola non son morto.

Qui vuol mie sorte c' anzi tempo i' dorma: Ne son gia morto: Se qui cent' anni t' ban tolto due ore, Un lustro e f orza clie 1' eterno inganni! No, che 'n un giorno e vissuto cent' anni Colui che 'n quello il tutto inipara, e muore. Gran ventura qui morto esser mi veggio: Tal dota ebbi dal cielo anzi che veglio ; Che, non possendo al mondo darmi meglio, Ogni altro che la morte era '1 mie peggio. The soul while in the body could not see, Like us, the form enshrouded in this tomb ; But if Heaven granteth not as fair a room, Death had not gained the power to set it free.

They do believe me dead, — I who still shed Delight on all the world, living in thousand souls In breasts of lovers true. No death controls, Taking one soul alone. I am not dead. Here fate has willed me ere my time to sleep: I am not dead, though changed my dwelling be ; While thou dost look and weep, I rest alone in thee, Since lovers each the other's image keep. If years to kill, the power in moments lies, A lustre might eternal life betray! To lie here dead, I deem a blest estate ; Such grace from Heaven I have, to grow not old: The best of earthly gifts to me all told, Aught else than death would give me harder fate.

Se fussin, perch' i' viva un' altra volta, Gli altru' piaiiti a quest' ossa came e sangue ; Sarie spietato per pieta chi langue, Per rilegar lor V alma in ciel disciolta. S' t fu' gia vivo, tu sol, pietra, il sai, Che qui mi serri: De' Bracci naqqui ; e dopo '1 primo pianto, Picciol tempo il sol vider gli occhi miei.

Qui son per sempre ; ne per men vorrei, S' i' resto vivo in quel che m' amo tanto. A la terra la terra, e V alma al cielo Qui reso ha morte. A chi morto ancor m' ama Ha dato in guardia mie bellezza e fama, Ch' eterni in pietra il mie terrestre velo. F fu' Cecchin mortale, e or son divo: Poco ebbi '1 mondo, e per sempre il ciel godo. Di si bel cambio e di morte mi lodo, Che molti morti, e me par tori vivo. If so it were, that life might be regained, Tears clothe these bones with living flesh and blood, Ah!

A Bracci I was born, and after birth below But little time mine eyes might see the sun. Here am I now forever. Life is won, If I remain alive in him who loved me so. Death has given earth to earth, to Heaven my soul. To him who loves me yet in death the same, Is given to guard my beauty and my fame ; This stone forever keeps my earthly whole. Short time the world I had, but Heaven now is mine.

For such a fair exchange, to Death I praise assign, Who many dead, but me brought forth alive. Non sempre al mondo e si pregiato e caro Quel che molti contenta, Che non sie 'lcun che senta, Quel ch' e lor dolce, spesse volte amaro. II buon gusto e si raro, Ch' a forza al vulgo cede, Allor che dentro di se stesso gode. Ond' io, perdendo, imparo Quel che di fuor non vede Chi T alma attrista e' suo' sospir non ode. II mondo e cieco, e di suo' gradi o lode Piu giova a chi piu scarso esser ne suole: Come sferza che 'nsegnia, e parte duole.

Ill hath he chosen his part who seeks to please The worthless world, — ill hath he chosen his part, For often must he wear the look of ease When grief is in his heart ; And often in his hours of happier feeling With sorrow must his countenance be hung, And ever his own better thoughts concealing, Must he in stupid Grandeur's praise be loud, And to the errors of the ignorant crowd Assent with lying tongue.

Thus much would I conceal that none should know What secret cause I have for silent woe; And, taught by many a melancholy proof That those whom Fortune favors it pollutes, I, from the blind and faithless world aloof, Nor fear its envy, nor desire its praise, But choose my path through solitary ways. Perch' e troppo molesta, Ancor che dolce sia, Quella merce che 1' alma legar suole ; Mie liberta di questa Vostr' alta cortesia, Piu che d' un furto, si lamenta e duole.

E com' occhio nel sole Disgrega suo virtu, ch' esser dovrebbe Di maggior luce, s' a veder ne sprona ; Cosi 1 desir non vuole Zoppa la grazia in me, che da vo' crebbe. Che '1 poco al troppo spesso s' abandona, Ne questo a quel perdona: C amor vuol sol gli amici onde son rari Di fortuna e virtu simili e pari. Lady, I trust it is not pride, But obligations so allied To favor that I seem to see In your exalted courtesy Infringement on my liberty.

Since the sun's radiance on the eye Shining in unblenched majesty, Should heighten, not o'erwhelm, the sight, But dazzles by excess of light, On me thus acts your presence bright ; It charms, and yet its potent ray Unnerves my reason's wonted sway: Small virtue, when its path is crost By higher far, absorbed, is lost: They who too much bestow confound ; With such there is no common ground ; Therefore though rarely to be found Love wills that friends should equal be In virtue and in quality.

Ora in sul destro, ora in sul manco piede Variando, cerco della mia salute: Fra '1 vizio e la virtute II cor confuso mi travaglia e stanca ; Come chi 1 ciel non vede, Che per ogni sentier si perde, e manca. Porgo la carta bianca A' vostri sacri inchiostri, Ch' amor mi sganni, e pieta 1 ver ne scriva Che T alma da se franca Non pieghi a gli error nostri Mio breve resto, e che men cieco viva. Midst endless doubts, shifting from right to left, How my salvation to secure I seek, And still 'twixt vice and virtue balancing, My heart confused weighs down and wearies me, — As one who, having lost the light of Heaven, Bewildered strays, whatever path he takes ; I, Lady, to your sacred penmanship Present the blank page of my troubled mind, That you, in dissipation of my doubts, May on it write how my benighted soul Of its desired end may not so fail As to incur at length a fatal fall: Be you the writer who have taught me how To tread by fairest paths the way to Heaven.

Ch' a risquoter da quanti Al mondo son, mal si rimborsa il cielo. Ora in un breve anelo, Anzi in un punto, Dio Dal mondo poco accorto Se T ha ripresa, e tolta agli occhi nostri. Ne metter puo in oblio, Benche 1 corpo sia morto, I suo' dolci leggiadri e sacri inchiostri. Crudel pieta, qui mostri, Se quanto a questa, il ciel prestava a i brutti, S' or per morte il rivuol, morremo or tutti.

If Heaven indeed had shared it among all That mortal are, it scarce could have withdrawn It back, and re-enriched its treasury. Heaven has reta'en it from this mortal goddess To call her so , and borne it from our eyes ; Yet the sweet, beautiful, and holy verse Cannot so soon into oblivion pass, Although the mortal be removed by death. But Pity, merciless, appears to us To show that if to each one Heaven had given The beauty of this fair one to partake, We should be all obliged to suffer death, That Heaven might repossess it of its own.

Per fido esemplo alia mia vocazione Nel parto mi fu data la bellezza, Che d' ambo 1' arti m' e lucerna e specchio. S' altro si pensa, e falsa opinione. Questo sol T occhio porta a quella altezza Ch' a pingere e scolpir qui m' apparecchio. S' e giudizii temerari e sciocchi Al senso tiran la belta, che muove E porta al cielo ogni intelletto sano ; Dal mortale al divin non vanno gli occhi Infermi, e fermi sempre pur la dove Ascender senza grazia e pensier vano.

To bind me faithful to my calling high, By birth was given me beauty's light, Lantern and mirror of two noble arts ; And other faith is but a falsity. This bears the soul alone to its proud height ; To paint, to sculpture, this all strength imparts. And other judgments foolish are and blind, Which draw from sense the beauty that can move, And bear to heaven each heart with wisdom sane.

No road divine our eyes infirm may find ; The mortal may not from that world remove Whence without grace to hope to rise is vain. Gli occhi miei vaghi delle cose belle, E 1' alma insieme della sua salute, Non hanno altra virtute Ch' ascenda al ciel, che mirar tutte quelle. Dalle piu alte stelle Discende uno splendore, Che 1 desir tira a quelle ; E qui si chiama amore. Ne altro ha gentil core, Che T innamori e arda, e che '1 consigli, Ch' un volto che ne gli occhi lor somigli. From loftiest stars shoots down a radiance all their own, Drawing the soul above ; And such we say is Love.

For nought can so control, Charm, penetrate the soul, Or counsel it in monitory guise, As a sweet face set off by starlit eyes. Si come per levar, donna, si pone In pietra alpestra e dura Una viva figura, Che la piii crescie u' piii la pietra scema ; Tal alcun' opre buone, Per 1' alma che pur trema, Cela il superchio della propria came Co 1' inculta sua cruda e dura scorza.

Tu pur dalle mie streme Parti puo' sol levarne ; Ch' in me non e di me voler ne forza. As, Lady, when we hew away The rugged outer stone, A living form is shown, Which, as the marble wastes, grows more defined; So does our fleshly hull of clay, That harsh and rude and savage rind, Conceal the impulses of right Of the weak soul, which trembles still. Thou only canst unbind This veil which hides my inner light ; For I alone have neither strength nor will.

Beati, voi che su nel ciel godete Le lacrime che '1 mondo non ristora, Favvi amor guerra ancora, pur per morte liberi ne siete? La nostra eterna quiete, Fuor d' ogni tempo, e priva D' invidia amando, e d' angosciosi pianti. Dunche a mal pro ch' i' viva Convien, come vedete, Per amare e servire in dolor tanti. Se '1 cielo e degli amanti Amico, e '1 mondo ingrato Amando, a che son nato? E questo mi spaventa: Che 1 poco e troppo a chi ben serve e stenta. Tell me, has Love still power over you, Or are ye freed by death from his constraint?

Th' eternal rest to which we shall return When time has ceased to be, is a pure love, Deprived of envy, loosed from sorrowing. Then is my greatest burden still to live, If whilst I love such sorrows must be mine. If Heaven 's indeed the friend of those who love, The world their cruel and ungrateful foe, Oh! To live long years?

Few are too long for him who serveth well. S' egli e che 1 buon desio Porti dal mondo a Dio Alcuna cosa bella, Sol la mie donna e quella, A chi ha gli occhi fatti com' ho io. Ogni altra cosa oblio, E sol di tant' ho cura. Non e gran maraviglia, S' io 1' amo e bramo e chiamo a tutte 1' ore: N' e proprio valor mio, Se 1' alma per natura S' appoggia a chi somiglia Ne gli occhi gli occhi, ond' ella scende fore; Se sente il primo Amore Come suo fin, per quel qua questa onora: Ch' amar die '1 servo ch' el signore adora.

Nor is it marvellous, Since the effect is not of my own power, If the soul doth by nature, tempted forth, Enamoured through the eyes, Repose upon the eyes, which it resembleth, And through them riseth to the primal love, As to its end, and honors in admiring ; For who adores the Maker needs must love his work. Da maggior luce e da piu chiara stella La notte il ciel le sue da lunge accende: Te sol, presso a te, rende Ogni or piu. Qual cor piu questa o quella A pieta muove e sprona, C ogni or ch' i' ardo, almen non s' aggiacc' egli?

Chi, senza aver, ti dona Vaga e gentil persona E 1 volto e gli occhi e' biondi e be' capegli ; Dunche contra te quegli Ben fuggi, e me con essi ; Se '1 bello infra' non begli Belta cresce a se stessi. Donna, ma stu rendessi Quel che t' ha dato il ciel, c' a noi Y ha tolto, Sarie piu '1 nostro, e men bello il tuo volto. Oh, tell me, lady, which of these To pity moves and spurs, That when I burn, you may not freeze?

Who thus gains beauty more than hers — A fair and lovely form, A face and eyes and flowing hair, — Would only her own charms deform By shunning one less fair ; For beauty but more lovely grows Where others beauty lack. Et io clie piu potrei Servirla, amarla, se mi foss' arnica ; Che, sendomi nemica, L' amo piu ch' allor far non doverrei?

If pity filled her soul, Cupid, say, As much as beauty glorifies her face, , Could any man be so bereft of grace As not to yield himself to her dear sway? And e'en if she were friendly, tell me, how Could I her truer slave and lover be, Since, notwithstanding her hostility, Far more than then I ought, I love her now? Que' singulti, e que' pianti, e que' sospiri Che '1 miser core voi accompagnorno, Madonna, duramen te dimostrorno La mia propinqua morte e' miei martiri. Ma se ver e che per assenzia mai Mia fedel servitu vadia in obblio, II cor lasso con voi, che non e mio.

How shall I e'er have power, Taken from you, to keep myself in life, Unable if at parting to invoke Your aid? These plaints, these sorrowings, these sighs, With which my grieving heart still follows you, With cruel indication, lady, show My near approaching death, my sufferings. But lest by absence you forgetful prove How I have served you with all faithfulness, As a remembrance of my long-borne woes, I leave to you my heart, which is not mine.

Come pu6 esser ch' io non sia piii mio? Chi mi tolse a me stesso, Ch' a me fusse piii presso, piu di me, che mi possa esser io? Come mi passa '1 core Chi non par che mi tocchi! Che cosa e questa, amore, Ch' al core entra per gli occhi ; E s' avvien che trabocchi Per poco spazio, dentro par che cresca? Some power there seems to be, Which moulds my will by means I can't divine ; My heart what flutterings move, Touched in some viewless guise; — What is this thing called Love, Which, entering by the eyes, Pervades the inmost soul, Where, spurning all control, It claims resistless sway, While countless outward acts its inward power display?

Questa mia donna e si pronta et ardita, Ch' all' or che la m' uccide, ogni mio bene Con gli occhi mi promette, e parte tiene II crudel ferro dentro alia ferita. E cosi morte e vita, Contrarie, insieme in un picciol momento Dentro all' anima sento: Ma la grazia el tormento Minacci' a rnorte per piu lunga prova , ' Ch' assai pin nuoce il mal, che '1 ben non giova. Ev'n when she slays me, my loved Fair Delights to act a double part ; Her eyes speak promise, whilst her air And mien strike daggers through my heart. Soon will the conflict close, and Death's cold sway Quench in the shades of night Joy's flattering ray.

Occhi mie', siete certi Che 1 tempo passa, e 1' ora s' avicina C alle lacrime triste il passo serra. Pieta vi tenga aperti, Mentre la mie divina Donna si degnia d' abitare in terra. Se grazia il ciel diserra, Com' a' beati suole ; Questo mie vivo sole Se lassii torna, e partesi da noi, Che cosa arete qua da veder poi? May pity keep your sight, The while my fair divinity Doth deign to walk the earth's broad face. If Heaven is unbarred through grace, As for the blest is often done ; If this my living sun, Eeturning upward, shall depart from me, — What will ye then, eyes, have left to see?

Legato e stretto, e son libero e sciolto? Se tu 'ncateni altrui senza catena, E senza mani o braccia m' hai raccolto, Chi mi difendera dal tuo bel volto? If to enchain without a chain, If round my yielding heart to twine Soft bands invisible, be thine, What shall defend me from the grace, The winning beauties of the face? Condotto da molt' anni all' ultim' ore, Tardi conosco, o mondo, i tuo' diletti: La vergognia e '1 timore De gli anni, c' or prescrive II ciel, non mi rinuova Che '1 vecchio e dolce errore ; Nel qual chi troppo vive L' anim' ancide, e nulla al corpo giova.

II dico, e so per pruova Di me ; che 'n ciel quel solo ha miglior sorte, Ch' ebbe al suo parto piu presso la morte. Conducted by long years to the last hours, Too late, world, I learn thy emptiness ; Proffering to man the quiet thou hast not, And that repose which dieth in its birth. But not on that account reproach nor grief For all my fugitive and ill-spent years Eenews desires and thoughts within my heart ; For he who in sweet error groweth old, Whilst he appears to quicken his desire, Doth kill the soul, — the body profits not. At length I see, by sad experience, That he enjoys a better, surer lot Who at his birth is nearest unto death.

Mentre che 1 mie passato m' e presente, Si come ogni or mi viene, O mondo falso, allor conosco bene L' errore, e 1 danno dell' umana gente. Quel cor, c alfin consente A tuo' lusingi e a tuo' van diletti, Procaccia all' alma dolorosi guai: Ben lo sa chi lo sente ; Come spesso prometti Altrui la pace e '1 ben die tu non hai, Ne debbi aver gia mai. Dunche ha men grazia chi phi qua soggiorna; Che chi men vive, piu lieve al ciel torna. When thoughts of days long past upon me steal, In vain I shun them ; all their forms arise: Then, fallacious world, I deeply feel How steeped in error man besotted lies.

The heart which yields its faith to thee, Charmed by thy magic sorcery, And thoughtless thrids the giddy round Of vain delights within thee found, By the sad issue learns to know That Pleasure is the nurse of Woe. He who is wise, at length will cease To trust thy promises of peace ; Convinced thou never canst bestow The good it is not thine to know.

The troubles I have proved, the griefs which dim my eyes, Have sprung from yielding faith to thy vain fallacies. Donn', a me vecchio e grave, Ov' io torno e rientro Si come a peso il centro, Che fuor di quel riposo alcun non ave, II ciel porgie le chiave. Amor le volgie e gira, E apre a' iusti il petto di costei: Le voglie inique e prave Mi vieta, e la mi tira, Gia stanco e vil, fra' rari e semidei.

Grazie vengon da lei Strane e dolce e d' un certo valore, Che per se vive chiunche per le' muore. Each sinful wish forbidding, He draws me, with sweet leading, Weary and low, to comrades half divine j While every grace of thine Is strange and sweet, and of undoubted worth. Who dies for thee has to new living birth. Or d' un fier diaccio or d' un ardente foco, Or d' anni o guai or di vergogna armato, L' avvenir nel passato Specchio, con trista e dolorosa speme ; E 1 ben, per durar poco, Sento non men che 1 mal m' affligge e preme.

Alia buona alia ria fortuna insieme, Di me gia stanche, ognor chieggio perdono: E veggio ben, che della vita sono Ventura e grazia 1' ore breve e corte, Se la miseria medica la morte. Now in a frost, now in a burning flame, Weighted with many years of woe and shame, The future in the past I see, Yet with no hope that comforts me, Since welfare, by its term so brief, Loads and oppresses me like grief. Alike in good or evil fate, My weary self asks pardon late ; And I see well that life's short hours Are blessings from the gracious powers, If death can medicine my woful state.

Amor, se tu se' dio, Non puo' cio che tu vuoi? Deh fa' per me, se puoi, Quel ch' io farei per te, s' amor fuss' io! Sconviensi al gran desio D' alta belta la speme, Viepiu T effetto, a chi e presso al morire. Pon nel tuo grado il mio: Dolce gli fie chi '1 preme? Che grazia per poc' or, doppia '1 martire. Ben ti voglio ancor dire: Che sarie morte, s' a' miseri e dura, A chi muor giunto all' alta sua ventura? If thou 'rt a god, Love, Is not thy power free?

A moment take my place: Is that which burdens, fair? A transient grace is torment doubly trying. And this, too, mid our sighing: What would death be, which e'en the wretched shun, To him who dies when highest bliss is won? Lucente stella, che co' raggi suoi Fe chiaro, a torto, el nido ove naqqu' io ; Ne sare' '1 premio tutto 1 mondo rio: Tu sol, che la creasti, esser quel puoi.

Di Dante dico, che mal conosciute Fur 1' opre suo da quel popolo ingrato, Che solo a' iusti manca di salute. Fuss' io pur lui! A shining star, that with its brilliant rays Illumed in evil times the nest where I was born. As guerdon fit for him, this wicked earth I scorn God, his creator, him alone repays.

Would I were he! Quante dime si de' non si puo dire, Che troppo agli orbi il suo splendor s' accese Biasmar si puo piu '1 popol che 1' offese, C ' al suo men pregio ogni maggior salire. Questo discese a' merti del fallire, Per 1' util nostro, e poi a Dio ascese: Ingrata, dico, e della suo fortuna A suo danno nutrice ; ond' e ben segnio, C ' a' piu perfetti abonda di piu guai. Fra mille altre ragion sol ha quest' una: Se par non ebbe il suo esilio indegnio, Simil uom ne maggior non naqque mai.

What should be said of him, I may not speak ; His splendor overwhelms my blinded sight. To censure those who wronged him is my right, Since for his least worth my language is too weak. He bended low where God doth punish sin, To teach us ; then to God did he ascend. So, from a thousand proofs, this one I state, — No equal exile hath there been to his: No greater man than he on earth e'er came. Qua si fa elmi di calici e spade, E 1 sangue di Cristo si vend' a giumelle, E croce e spine son lance e rotelle ; E pur da Cristo pazienzia cade!

Ma non c' arivi piu 'n queste contrade, Che n' andre' '1 sangue suo 'nsin alle stelle, Poscia che a Eoma gli vendon la pelle ; E eci d' ogni ben chiuso le strade. S' i' ebbi ma' voglia a posseder tesauro, Per cio clie qua opra da me e partita, Pu6 quel nel manto che Medusa in Mauro. Ma se alto in cielo e poverta gradita, Qual fia di nostro stato il gran restauro, S' un altro segno amorza 1' altra vita?

Here helms and swords are made of chalices: The blood of Christ is sold so much the quart: His cross and thorns are spears and shields ; and short Must be the time e'er even his patience cease. Nay, let him come no more to raise the fees Of this foul sacrilege beyond report! For Rome still flays and sells him at the court, Where paths are closed to virtue's fair increase. Now were fit time for me to scrape a treasure! Seeing that work and gain are gone ; while he Who wears the robe, is my Medusa still.

God welcomes poverty perchance with pleasure: But of that better life what hope have we, When the blessed banner leads to nought but ill? La barba al cielo, e la memoria sento In sullo scrignio, e '1 petto fo d' arpia ; E 1 pennel sopra '1 viso tuttavia Mel fa, gocciando, un ricco pavimento. E lombi entrati mi son nella peccia, E fo del cul per contrapeso groppa, E' passi senza gli occhi muovo invano.

Dinanzi mi s' allunga la corteccia, E per piegarsi adietro si ragroppa, E tendomi com' arco soriano. Per6 fallace e strano Surgie il iudizio che la mente porta ; Che mal si tra' per cerbottana torta. La mia pittura morta Difendi orma', Giovanni, e 1 mio onore, Non sen do in loco bon, ne io pit tore. My beard turns up to heaven ; my nape falls in, Fixed on my spine: My loins into my paunch like levers grind: My buttock like a crupper bears my weight ; My feet unguided wander to and fro ; In front my skin grows loose and long ; behind, By bending it becomes more taut and strait ; Crosswise I strain me like a Syrian bow: Whence false and quaint, I know, Must be the fruit of squinting brain and eye ; For ill can aim the gun that bends awry.

Come then, Giovanni, try To succour my dead pictures and my fame ; Since foul I fare and painting is my shame. Felice spirto, che con zelo ardente, Vecchio alia morte, in vita il mio cor tieni, E fra mill' altri tuo' diletfci e beni Me sol saluti fra piu nobil gente ; Come mi fusti agli occhi, or alia mente, Per T altru' fiate, a consolar mi vieni: Onde la speme il duol par che raffreni, Che non men che 1 disio 1' anima sente. Dunche trovando in te chi-per me parla, Grazia. Che sconcia e grand' usur saria a farla, Donandoti turpissime pitture Per riaver persone belle e vive. Blest spirit, who with loving tenderness Quickenest my heart so old and near to die, Who mid thy joys on me dost bend an eye Though many nobler men around thee press!

As thou wert erewhile wont my sight to bless, So to console my mind thou now dost fly ; Hope therefore stills the pangs of memory, Which coupled with desire my soul distress. So finding in thee grace to plead for me — Thy thoughts for me sunk in so sad a case — He who now writes, returns thee thanks for these. Lo, it were foul and monstrous usury To send thee ugliest paintings in the place Of thy fair spirit's living phantasies. Per esser manco almen, signiora, indegnio Dell' immensa vostr' alta cortesia, Prima, all' incontro a quella, usar la mia Con tutto il cor volse 1 mie basso ingegnio.

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Ma visto poi c' ascendere a quel segnio Propio valor non e c' apra la via, Perdon domanda la mie colpa ria, E del fallir piu saggio ognior divegnio. E veggio ben com' erra, s' alcun crede La grazia, che da voi divina piove, Pareggi 1' opra mia caduca e frale. L' ingegnio e 1' arte e la memoria cede: C un don celeste mai con mille pruove Pagar puo sol del suo chi e mortale. Oh, noble lady, but more true to be To the high gift of your great courtesy, I gladly would increasing merit find In the poor efforts of my lowly mind! But when unto this lofty height I climb, The strength and worth to reach it are not mine.

My wicked boldness asks for saving grace, That wisdom may some good from failure trace. He errs, if any lets that foolish thought prevail That to the grace divine, flowing from you to me, My frail and dying work can ever equal be: My mind and art and memory all would fail. How can a mortal, with a thousand efforts, pay Celestial gifts, in his poor feeble way? Ma nel secondo poi di pietra viva S' adempion le promesse del martello; E si rinasce tal concetto e bello, Che ma' non e chi suo eterno prescriva. Simil, di me model, nacqu' io da prima ; Di me model, per cosa piu perfetta Da voi rinascer poi, donna alta e degna.

Se '1 poco accresce, 1 mio superchio lima Vostra pieta ; qual penitenzia aspetta Mio fiero ardor, se mi gastiga e insegna? This is the earliest birth of Art's embrace. From the live marble in the second place His mallet brings into the light of day A thing so beautiful that who can say When time shall conquer that immortal grace?

Thus my own model I was born to be — The model of that nobler self, whereto Schooled by your pity, lady, I shall grow. Each overplus and each deficiency You will make good. What penance then is due For my fierce heat, chastened and taught by you? Non ha 1' ottimo artista alcun concetto, Ch' un marmo solo in se nou circonscriva Col suo soverchio ; e solo a quello arriva La man che ubbidisce all' intelletto.

II mal ch' io fuggo, e '1 ben ch' io mi prometto, In te, donna leggiadra, altera e diva, Tal si nasconde ; e perch' io piu non viva, Contraria ho Y arte al disiato effetto. Whate'er conception a great artist fires, Its answering semblance latent lies within A block of marble ; but the hand alone, Swayed by the intellect, can give it form.

Lady illustrious, graceful, and divine, The Good I 'd seek for, and the I 'd shun, Thus latent are in thee ; but I, death-struck, Fail in my efforts to attain that Good. Nor love, then, nor thy beauty are the cause, Nor adverse fortune, nor thy cold disdain, Of the sad destiny 'neath which I pine. If death and pity each within thy heart Together dwell, how weak my power, which fails, Though ardent, to extract thence aught but death.

Com' esser, donna, pu6 quel ch' alcun vede Per lunga sperienza, che piu dura L' immagin viva in pietra alpestra e dura, Che 1 suo fattor, che gli anni in cener riede? La causa all' effetto inclina e cede, Onde dall' arte e vinta la natura. Io 1 so, che '1 provo in la bella scultura ; Ch' all' opra il tempo e morte non tien fede.

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Dunque posso ambo noi dar lunga vita In qual sie modo, o di colore o sasso, Di noi sembrando 1' uno e 1' altro volto: Si che mill' anni dopo la partita Quanto e voi bella fusti, e quant' io lasso Si veggia, e com' amarvi io non fui stolto. How, lady, can it be — which yet is shown By long experience — that the imaged' form Lives in the mountain stone, and long survives Its maker, whom the dart of Death soon strikes? The frailer cause doth yield to the effect, And nature is in this by art surpassed.

I know it well, whom Sculpture so befriends, Whilst evermore Time breaketh faith with me. Perchance to both of us I may impart A lasting life in colors or in stone, By copying the mind and face of each ; So that for ages after my decease The world may see how beautiful thou wert, — How much I loved thee, nor in loving erred. Quanto si gode, lieta e ben con testa Di nor, sopra' crin d' or d' una, grillanda ; Che 1' altro inanzi 1' uno all' altro manda, Come ch' il primo sia a baciar la testa! Contenta e tutto il giorno quella vesta Che serra '1 petto, e poi par che si spanda ; E quel c' oro filato si domanda Le guanci' e '1 collo di toccar non resta.

Ma piu lieto quel nastro par che goda, Dorato in punta, con si fatte tempre, Che preme e tocca il petto ch' egli allaccia. E la schietta cintura che s' annoda Mi par dir seco: Or che farebbon dunche le mie braccia? The livelong day her dress hath perfect bliss, That now reveals her breast, now seems to bind: And that fair woven net of gold refined Eests on her cheek and throat in happiness!

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Yet still more blissful seems to me the band Gilt at the tips, so sweetly doth it ring And clasp the bosom that it serves to lace: Yea, and the belt, to such as understand, Bound round her waist, saith: What would my arms do in that girdle's place? D' altrui pietoso e sol di se spietato Nascie un vil bruto, clie con dolce doglia L' altrui man veste, e la suo scorza spoglia, E sol per morte si pu6 dir ben nato.

Cosi volesse al mie signior mie fato Vestir suo viva di mie morta spoglia ; Che, come serpe al sasso si discoglia, Pur per morte potria cangiar mie stato. Oh, would that I might die, for her to find Eaiment in my outworn mortality! That, changing like the snake, I might be free To cast the slough wherein I dwell confined! Nay, were it mine, that shaggy fleece that stays, Woven and wrought into a vestment fair, Around her beauteous bosom in such bliss! All through the day she 'd clasp me! Would I were The shoes that bear her burden! When the ways Were wet with rain, her feet I then should kiss!

Ben possou gli occhi mia presso e lontano Veder dove apparisce il tuo bel volto ; Ma dove lor, a' pie, donna, e ben tolto Portar le braccia e 1' una e 1' altra mano. L' anima, 1' intelletto intero e sano Per gli occhi ascende piu libero e sciolto All' alta tuo belta ; ma 1' ardor molto Non da tal privilegio al corpo umano Grave e mortal ; si che mal segue poi Senz' ale ancor d' un' angioletta il volo, E 1 veder sol pur se ne gloria e loda.

The soul, the intellect, intact and clear Ascendeth through the eyes with freedom, where Thy beauty reigns ; yet all our longing ne'er Can serve to make the human body freer: This heavy mortal frame doth strive but ill, Wingless, with angel's lofty flight to vie, And all its boast and pleasure are to see. Spirto ben nato, in cui si specchia e vede Nelle tuo belle membra oneste e care Quante natura e '1 ciel tra no' pu6 fare,! Quand' a null' altra suo bell' opra cede: Spirto leggiadro, in cui si spera e crede Dentro, come di fuor nel viso appare, Amor, pieta, merce ; cose si rare, Che ma' f urn' in belta con tanta fede: Qual uso o qual governo al mondo niega, Qual crudelta per tempo, o qual piu tardi, C a si bel viso morte non perdoni?

Thou high-born spirit, on whose countenance, Pure and beloved, is seen reflected all That Heaven and Nature can on earth achieve, Surpassing all their beauteous works with one ; Fair spirit, within whom we hope to find, As in thine outward countenance appears, Love, piety, and mercy, — things so rare As with such faith were ne'er in beauty found, — Love seizes me, and beauty chains my soul. The pitying love of thy blest countenance Gives to my heart, it seems, firm confidence.

Thou faithless world, thou sad deceitful life, What law, what envious decree, denies That Death should spare a work so beautiful? Dimmi di grazia, amor, se gli occhi mei Veggono '1 ver della belta ch' aspiro, s' io 1' ho dentro allor che, dov' io miro, Veggio piu bello el viso di costei. Tu '1 de' saper, po' che tu vien con lei A torm' ogni mie pace, ond' io m' adiro ; Ne vorre' manco un minimo sospiro, Ne men ardente foco chiederei La belta che tu vedi e ben da quella ; Ma crescie poi ch' a miglior loco sale, Se per gli occhi mortali all' alma corre.

Quivi si fa divina, onesta e bella, Com' a se simil vuol cosa immortale: Questa, e non quella, a gli occhi tuo' precorre. Tell me, Love, I pray thee, do mine eyes Behold that Beauty's truth which I admire, Or lives it in my heart, — for wheresoe'er I turn, more fair her countenance appears?

Thou well must know, for thou dost come with her, To take from me my peace, whence I complain ; And yet I would not wish one brief sigh less, Nor that the flame within me were less strong. The Beauty thou regardest is from her, But grows as to a better place it riseth, If through the mortal eyes it finds the soul. There it becomes ennobled, fair, divine ; For immortal thing assimilates the pure: This one, and not the other, meets thine eye.

La vita del mie amor non e '1 cor mio, Ch' amor, di quel ch' io t' amo, e senza core ; Dov' e cosa mortal piena d' errore, Esser non pu6 gia ma', ne pensier rio. Amor nel dipartir 1' alma da Dio Me fe' san occhio, e te luc' e splendore ; Ne puo non rivederlo in quel che muore Di te, per nostro mal, mie gran disio.

Come dal foco el caldo esser diviso Non pu6, dal bell' etterno ogni mie stima, Ch' esalta, ond' ella vien, chi piu 1 somiglia. Tu c' hai negli occhi tutto '1 paradiso, Per ritornar la dov' i' t' ama' prima, Ricorro ardendo sott' alle tuo ciglia. The life spring of my love is not my heart ; I love thee with a love devoid of heart, There tending where nor human passion, fraught With error, nor a guilty thought is found.

Love, when our souls proceeded forth from God, My vision clear, and Thee all splendor made ; And still I seem its traces to behold, E'en in thy frame which sin has mortal made. As heat from fire is not divisible, Thus with the Eternal blends the Beautiful, And I their emanations ever hail. Beholding in thine eyes bright Paradise, Ever beneath their radiance I would dwell, And thus return where first I loved thee so. Veggio co' bei vostrd occhi un dolce lume, Che co' miei ciechi gia veder non posso ; Porto co' vostri piedi un pondo a dosso, Che de' mie' zoppi non e gia costume ; Volo con le vostr' ale senza piuine ; Col vostr' ingegno al ciel sempre son mosso ; Dal vostr' arbitrio son pallido e rosso ; Freddo al sol, caldo alle piu fredde brume.

Nel voler vostro e sol la voglia mia, I mie' pensier nel vostro cor si fanno, Nel vostro fiato son le mia parole. Come lima da se sol par ch' io sia ; Che gli occhi nostri in ciel veder non sanno Se non quel tanto che n' accende il sole. Through your clear eyes I view a beauteous light, That my dark sight would ever seek in vain ; With your firm steps a burden I support, Which my weak power was never used to bear. I soar aloft, unplumed, upon your wings, By your intelligence to heaven am raised ; Your smile or frown maketh me pale or red, Cold in the sun, warm 'mid severest chills.

In your will is mine own will ever fixed ; My thoughts find birth and growth within your heart ; My words are from your spirit only drawn ; And like the moon, alone in heaven, I seem, That to our eyes were indiscernible, Save by that light which from the sun proceeds. S' UN casto amor, s' una pieta superna, S' una fortuna infra dua amanti equale, S' un' aspra sorte all' un dell' altro cale, S' un spirto, s' un voler duo cor governa ; S' un' anima in duo corpi e fatta eterna, Ambo levando al cielo e con pari ale ; S' amor d' un colpo e d' un dorato strale Le viscier di duo petti arda e discierna ; S' amar Y un 1' altro, e nessun se medesmo, D' un gusto e d' un diletto, a tal mercede, C a un fin voglia 1' uno e 1' altro porre Se mille e mille non sarien centesmo A tal nodo d' amore, a tanta fede ; E sol 1' isdegnio il puo rompere e sciorre?

Rendete a gli occhi miei, o fonte o fiume, L' onde della non vostra e salda vena, Che piu v' innalza, e cresce, e con piu lena Che non e 1 vostro natural costume. E tu, folt' air, che 1 celeste lume Tempri a' tristi occhi, de' sospir miei piena, Eendigli al cor mio lasso, e rasserena Tua scura faccia al mio visivo acume. Renda la terra i passi a le mie piante, Ch' ancor 1' erba germogli che gli e tolta ; E '1 suono Ecco, gia sorda a' miei lamenti ; Gli sguardi a gli occhi mie', tue luci sante ; Ch' io possa altra bellezza un' altra volta Amar, po' che di me non ti contenti.

Give back unto mine eyes, ye fount and rill, Those streams, not yours, that are so full and strong, That swell your springs and roll your waves along With force unwonted in your native hill! And thou, dense air, weighed with my sighs so chill, That hidest heaven's own light thick mists among, Give back those sighs to my sad heart, nor wrong My visual ray with thy dark face of ill! Let earth give back the footprints that I wore, That the bare grass I spoiled may sprout again ; And Echo, now grown deaf, my cries return! Loved eyes, unto mine eyes those looks restore, And let me woo another not in vain, Since how to please thee I shall never learn!

Non so se s' e la desiata luce Del suo primo fattor, che Y alma sente ; se dalla memoria della gente Alcun' altra belta nel cor traluce ; se fama o se sognio alcun prodduce Agli occhi manifesto, al cor presente ; Pi se lasciando un non so che cocente, Ch' S forse or quel ch' a pianger mi conduce ; Quel ch' i' sento e ch' i' cerco: Questo, signior, m' avvien, po' ch' i' vi vidi ; C un dolce amaro, un si e no mi muove: Certo saranno stati gli occhi vostri.

I KNOW not if it be the imaged light Of its first Maker which the soul doth feel, Or if, derived from memory or the mind, Some other beauty shine into the heart ; Or if the ardent ray of its first state Doth still resplendent beam within the mind, Leaving I know not what unrestful pain, Which is perchance the cause that makes me weep.

That which I see and feel is not with me: I have no guide, nor know I where to look To find one ; yet it seems as if revealed. It surely was the effect your eyes produced. E tant' e debol, che s' alcun accende Un picciol torchio, in quella parte tolle La vita dalla nott' ; e tant' e folle, Che 1' esca col fucil la squarcia e fende. To get the free app, enter your mobile phone number. Would you like to tell us about a lower price?

Selected poems from Michelangelo Buonarroti, with translations from various sources. Read more Read less. Kindle Cloud Reader Read instantly in your browser. Product details File Size: June 18, Sold by: Share your thoughts with other customers. Write a customer review. Amazon Giveaway allows you to run promotional giveaways in order to create buzz, reward your audience, and attract new followers and customers. Learn more about Amazon Giveaway. Set up a giveaway. There's a problem loading this menu right now. Learn more about Amazon Prime. Get fast, free shipping with Amazon Prime.

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