Flesh And Spirit.

Ben posson gli occhi.


Well may these eyes of mine both near and far
        Behold the beams that from thy beauty flow;
        But, lady, feet must halt where sight may go:
        We see, but cannot climb to clasp a star.
The pure ethereal soul surmounts that bar
        Of flesh, and soars to where thy splendours glow,
        Free through the eyes; while prisoned here below,
        Though fired with fervent love, our bodies are.
Clogged with mortality and wingless, we
        Cannot pursue an angel in her flight:
        Only to gaze exhausts our utmost might.
Yet, if but heaven like earth incline to thee,
        Let my whole body be one eye to see,
        That not one part of me may miss thy sight!

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

Proem. The Philosophic Flight.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Brood Of Ignorance.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

Love Feeds The Flame Of Age.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Lover And The Sculptor.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

English

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Waiting In Faith.

Se nel volto per gli occhi


If through the eyes the heart speaks clear and true,
        I have no stronger sureties than these eyes
        For my pure love. Prithee let them suffice,
        Lord of my soul, pity to gain from you.
More tenderly perchance than is my due,
        Your spirit sees into my heart, where rise
        The flames of holy worship, nor denies
        The grace reserved for those who humbly sue.
Oh, blesséd day when you at last are mine!
        Let time stand still, and let noon's chariot stay;
        Fixed be that moment on the dial of heaven!
That I may clasp and keep, by grace divine,
        Clasp in these yearning arms and keep for aye
        My heart's loved lord to me desertless given!

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Celestial Love.

Non vider gli occhi miei.


I saw no mortal beauty with these eyes
        When perfect peace in thy fair eyes I found;
        But far within, where all is holy ground,
        My soul felt Love, her comrade of the skies:
For she was born with God in Paradise;
        Else should we still to transient loves be bound;
        But, finding these so false, we pass beyond
        Unto the Love of Loves that never dies.
Nay, things that die, cannot assuage the thirst
        Of souls undying; nor Eternity
        Serves Time, where all must fade that flourisheth.
Sense is not love, but lawlessness accurst:
        This kills the soul; while our love lifts on high
        Our friends on earth--higher in heaven through death.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Love's Dilemma.

I' mi credetti.


I deemed upon that day when first I knew
        So many peerless beauties blent in one,
        That, like an eagle gazing on the sun,
        Mine eyes might fix on the least part of you.
That dream hath vanished, and my hope is flown;
        For he who fain a seraph would pursue
        Wingless, hath cast words to the winds, and dew
        On stones, and gauged God's reason with his own.
If then my heart cannot endure the blaze
        Of beauties infinite that blind these eyes,
        Nor yet can bear to be from you divided,
What fate is mine? Who guides or guards my ways,
        Seeing my soul, so lost and ill-betided,
        Burns in your presence, in your absence dies?

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Doom Of Beauty.

Spirto ben nato.


Choice soul, in whom, as in a glass, we see,
        Mirrored in thy pure form and delicate,
        What beauties heaven and nature can create,
        The paragon of all their works to be!
Fair soul, in whom love, pity, piety,
        Have found a home, as from thy outward state
        We clearly read, and are so rare and great
        That they adorn none other like to thee!
Love takes me captive; beauty binds my soul;
        Pity and mercy with their gentle eyes
        Wake in my heart a hope that cannot cheat.
What law, what destiny, what fell control,
        What cruelty, or late or soon, denies
        That death should spare perfection so complete?

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Beauty's Intolerable Splendour.

Se 'l foco alla bellezza.


If but the fire that lightens in thine eyes
        Were equal with their beauty, all the snow
        And frost of all the world would melt and glow
        Like brands that blaze beneath fierce tropic skies.
But heaven in mercy to our miseries
        Dulls and divides the fiery beams that flow
        From thy great loveliness, that we may go
        Through this stern mortal life in tranquil wise.
Thus beauty burns not with consuming rage;
        For so much only of the heavenly light
        Inflames our love as finds a fervent heart.
This is my case, lady, in sad old age:
        If seeing thee, I do not die outright,
        'Tis that I feel thy beauty but in part.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Love's Paradoxes.

Sento d' un foco.


Far off with fire I feel a cold face lit,
        That makes me burn, the while itself doth freeze:
        Two fragile arms enchain me, which with ease,
        Unmoved themselves, can move weights infinite.
A soul none knows but I, most exquisite,
        That, deathless, deals me death, my spirit sees:
        I meet with one who, free, my heart doth seize:
        And who alone can cheer, hath tortured it.
How can it be that from one face like thine
        My own should feel effects so contrary,
        Since ill comes not from things devoid of ill?
That loveliness perchance doth make me pine,
        Even as the sun, whose fiery beams we see,
        Inflames the world, while he is temperate still.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni