A Prayer For Purification.

Forse perchè d' altrui.


Perchance that I might learn what pity is,
        That I might laugh at erring men no more,
        Secure in my own strength as heretofore,
        My soul hath fallen from her state of bliss:
Nor know I under any flag but this
        How fighting I may 'scape those perils sore,
        Or how survive the rout and horrid roar
        Of adverse hosts, if I Thy succour miss.
O flesh! O blood! O cross! O pain extreme!
        By you may those foul sins be purified,
        Wherein my fathers were, and I was born!
Lo, Thou alone art good: let Thy supreme
        Pity my state of evil cleanse and hide--
        So near to death, so far from God, forlorn.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni was an Italian sculptor, painter, architect, and poet of the High Renaissance. Born on March 6, 1475, he is widely considered one of the greatest artists of all time. His poetry, although lesser-known compared to his other artistic achievements, displays his deep contemplation of art, love, and spirituality. Michelangelo passed away on February 18, 1564.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Heaven-Born Beauty. First Reading.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - To Jesus Christ.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Brood Of Ignorance.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

To Giovanni Da Pistoja. On The Painting Of The Sistine Chapel.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

A Prayer For Strength.

Carico d'anni.


Burdened with years and full of sinfulness,
        With evil custom grown inveterate,
        Both deaths I dread that close before me wait,
        Yet feed my heart on poisonous thoughts no less.

No strength I find in mine own feebleness
        To change or life or love or use or fate,
        Unless Thy heavenly guidance come, though late,
        Which only helps and stays our nothingness.

'Tis not enough, dear Lord, to make me yearn
        For that celestial home, where yet my soul
        May be new made, and not, as erst, of nought:

Nay, ere Thou strip her mortal vestment, turn
        My steps toward the steep ascent, that whole
        And pure before Thy face she may be brought.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

A Prayer For Aid.

Deh fammiti vedere.


Oh, make me see Thee, Lord, where'er I go!
        If mortal beauty sets my soul on fire,
        That flame when near to Thine must needs expire,
        And I with love of only Thee shall glow.
Dear Lord, Thy help I seek against this woe,
        These torments that my spirit vex and tire;
        Thou only with new strength canst re-inspire
        My will, my sense, my courage faint and low.
Thou gavest me on earth this soul divine;
        And Thou within this body weak and frail
        Didst prison it--how sadly there to live!
How can I make its lot less vile than mine?
        Without Thee, Lord, all goodness seems to fail.
        To alter fate is God's prerogative.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

A Prayer For Faith.

Non è più bassa.


There's not on earth a thing more vile and base
        Than, lacking Thee, I feel myself to be:
        For pardon prays my own debility,
        Yearning in vain to lift me to Thy face.

Stretch to me, Lord, that chain whose links enlace
        All heavenly gifts and all felicity--
        Faith, whereunto I strive perpetually,
        Yet cannot find (my fault) her perfect grace.

That gift of gifts, the rarer 'tis, the more
        I count it great; more great, because to earth
        Without it neither peace nor joy is given.

If Thou Thy blood so lovingly didst pour,
        Let not that bounty fail or suffer dearth,
        Withholding Faith that opes the doors of heaven.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Love's Entreaty.

Tu sa' ch' i' so, Signor mie.


Thou knowest, love, I know that thou dost know
        That I am here more near to thee to be,
        And knowest that I know thou knowest me:
        What means it then that we are sundered so?
If they are true, these hopes that from thee flow,
        If it is real, this sweet expectancy,
        Break down the wall that stands 'twixt me and thee;
        For pain in prison pent hath double woe.
Because in thee I love, O my loved lord,
        What thou best lovest, be not therefore stern:
        Souls burn for souls, spirits to spirits cry!
I seek the splendour in thy fair face stored;
        Yet living man that beauty scarce can learn,
        And he who fain would find it, first must die.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

At The Foot Of The Cross.

Scarco d' un' importuna.


Freed from a burden sore and grievous band,
        Dear Lord, and from this wearying world untied,
        Like a frail bark I turn me to Thy side,
        As from a fierce storm to a tranquil land.
Thy thorns, Thy nails, and either bleeding hand,
        With Thy mild gentle piteous face, provide
        Promise of help and mercies multiplied,
        And hope that yet my soul secure may stand.
Let not Thy holy eyes be just to see
        My evil past, Thy chastened ears to hear
        And stretch the arm of judgment to my crime:
Let Thy blood only lave and succour me,
        Yielding more perfect pardon, better cheer,
        As older still I grow with lengthening time.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Blood Of Christ.

Mentre m' attrista.


Mid weariness and woe I find some cheer
        In thinking of the past, when I recall
        My weakness and my sins, and reckon all
        The vain expense of days that disappear:
This cheers by making, ere I die, more clear
        The frailty of what men delight miscall;
        But saddens me to think how rarely fall
        God's grace and mercies in life's latest year.
For though Thy promises our faith compel,
        Yet, Lord, what man shall venture to maintain
        That pity will condone our long neglect?
Still from Thy blood poured forth we know full well
        How without measure was Thy martyr's pain,
        How measureless the gifts we dare expect.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni