Carnal And Spiritual Love. First Reading.

Passa per gli occhi.


Swift through the eyes unto the heart within
        All lovely forms that thrall our spirit stray;
        So smooth and broad and open is the way
        That thousands and not hundreds enter in.
Burdened with scruples and weighed down with sin,
        These mortal beauties fill me with dismay;
        Nor find I one that doth not strive to stay
        My soul on transient joy, or lets me win
The heaven I yearn for. Lo, when erring love--
        Who fills the world, howe'er his power we shun,
        Else were the world a grave and we undone--
Assails the soul, if grace refuse to fan
        Our purged desires and make them soar above,
        What grief it were to have been born a man!

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

Love In Youth And Age. First Reading.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Year 1603.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

Love's Justification. Second Reading.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

On Dante Alighieri.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

English

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Carnal And Spiritual Love. Second Reading.

Passa per gli occhi.


Swift through the eyes unto the heart within
        All lovely forms that thrall our spirit stray;
        So smooth and broad and open is the way
        That thousands and not hundreds enter in
Of every age and sex: whence I begin,
        Burdened with griefs, but more with dull dismay,
        To fear; nor find mid all their bright array
        One that with full content my heart may win.
If mortal beauty be the food of love,
        It came not with the soul from heaven, and thus
        That love itself must be a mortal fire:
But if love reach to nobler hopes above,
        Thy love shall scorn me not nor dread desire
        That seeks a carnal prey assailing us.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Celestial And Earthly Love.

Non è sempre di colpa.


Love is not always harsh and deadly sin:
        If it be love of loveliness divine,
        It leaves the heart all soft and infantine
        For rays of God's own grace to enter in.
Love fits the soul with wings, and bids her win
        Her flight aloft nor e'er to earth decline;
        'Tis the first step that leads her to the shrine
        Of Him who slakes the thirst that burns within.
The love of that whereof I speak, ascends:
        Woman is different far; the love of her
        But ill befits a heart all manly wise.
The one love soars, the other downward tends;
        The soul lights this, while that the senses stir,
        And still his arrow at base quarry flies.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Love's Loadstone. Second Reading.

Non so se s' é l' immaginata luce.


I know not if it be the fancied light
        Which every man or more or less doth feel;
        Or if the mind and memory reveal
        Some other beauty for the heart's delight;

Or if within the soul the vision bright
        Of her celestial home once more doth steal,
        Drawing our better thoughts with pure appeal
        To the true Good above all mortal sight:

This light I long for and unguided seek;
        This fire that burns my heart, I cannot find;
        Nor know the way, though some one seems to lead.

This, since I saw thee, lady, makes me weak:
        A bitter-sweet sways here and there my mind;
        And sure I am thine eyes this mischief breed.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Heaven-Born Beauty. First Reading.

Per ritornar là.


As one who will reseek her home of light,
        Thy form immortal to this prison-house
        Descended, like an angel piteous,
        To heal all hearts and make the whole world bright.
'Tis this that thralls my soul in love's delight,
        Not thy clear face of beauty glorious;
        For he who harbours virtue, still will choose
        To love what neither years nor death can blight.
So fares it ever with things high and rare
        Wrought in the sweat of nature; heaven above
        Showers on their birth the blessings of her prime:
Nor hath God deigned to show Himself elsewhere
        More clearly than in human forms sublime;
        Which, since they image Him, alone I love.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Love's Justification. First Reading.

Ben può talor col mio.


Sometimes my love I dare to entertain
        With soaring hope not over-credulous;
        Since if all human loves were impious,
        Unto what end did God the world ordain?
For loving thee what license is more plain
        Than that I praise thereby the glorious
        Source of all joys divine, that comfort us
        In thee, and with chaste fires our soul sustain?
False hope belongs unto that love alone
        Which with declining beauty wanes and dies,
        And, like the face it worships, fades away.
That hope is true which the pure heart hath known,
        Which alters not with time or death's decay,
        Yielding on earth earnest of Paradise.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Love's Loadstone. First Reading.

No so s' è la desiata luce.


I know not if it be the longed-for light
        Of her first Maker which the spirit feels;
        Or if a time-old memory reveals
        Some other beauty for the heart's delight;
Or fame or dreams beget that vision bright,
        Sweet to the eyes, which through the bosom steals,
        Leaving I know not what that wounds and heals,
        And now perchance hath made me weep outright.
Be this what this may be, 'tis this I seek:
        Nor guide have I; nor know I where to find
        That burning fire; yet some one seems to lead.
This, since I saw thee, lady, makes me weak;
        A bitter-sweet sways here and there my mind,
        And sure I am thine eyes this mischief breed.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni