Light And Darkness.

Colui che fece.


He who ordained, when first the world began,
        Time, that was not before creation's hour,
        Divided it, and gave the sun's high power
        To rule the one, the moon the other span:
Thence fate and changeful chance and fortune's ban
        Did in one moment down on mortals shower:
        To me they portioned darkness for a dower;
        Dark hath my lot been since I was a man.
Myself am ever mine own counterfeit;
        And as deep night grows still more dim and dun,
        So still of more misdoing must I rue:
Meanwhile this solace to my soul is sweet,
        That my black night doth make more clear the sun
        Which at your birth was given to wait on you.

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

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - Sophists.

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The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - To Jesus Christ.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Samaritan.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - A Sonnet On Caucasus.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

English

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The Defence Of Night.

O nott' o dolce tempo.


O night, O sweet though sombre span of time!--
        All things find rest upon their journey's end--
        Whoso hath praised thee, well doth apprehend;
        And whoso honours thee, hath wisdom's prime.
Our cares thou canst to quietude sublime;
        For dews and darkness are of peace the friend:
        Often by thee in dreams upborne, I wend
        From earth to heaven, where yet I hope to climb.
Thou shade of Death, through whom the soul at length
        Shuns pain and sadness hostile to the heart,
        Whom mourners find their last and sure relief!
Thou dost restore our suffering flesh to strength,
        Driest our tears, assuagest every smart,
        Purging the spirits of the pure from grief.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Sacred Night.

Ogni van chiuso.


All hollow vaults and dungeons sealed from sight,
        All caverns circumscribed with roof and wall,
        Defend dark Night, though noon around her fall,
        From the fierce play of solar day-beams bright.
But if she be assailed by fire or light,
        Her powers divine are nought; they tremble all
        Before things far more vile and trivial--
        Even a glow-worm can confound their might.
The earth that lies bare to the sun, and breeds
        A thousand germs that burgeon and decay--
        This earth is wounded by the ploughman's share:
But only darkness serves for human seeds;
        Night therefore is more sacred far than day,
        Since man excels all fruits however fair.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

To Tommaso De' Cavalieri. Love The Light-Giver.

Veggio co' bei vostri occhi.


With your fair eyes a charming light I see,
        For which my own blind eyes would peer in vain;
        Stayed by your feet the burden I sustain
        Which my lame feet find all too strong for me;
Wingless upon your pinions forth I fly;
        Heavenward your spirit stirreth me to strain;
        E'en as you will, I blush and blanch again,
        Freeze in the sun, burn 'neath a frosty sky.
Your will includes and is the lord of mine;
        Life to my thoughts within your heart is given;
        My words begin to breathe upon your breath:
Like to the moon am I, that cannot shine
        Alone; for lo! our eyes see nought in heaven
        Save what the living sun illumineth.

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

Love And Art.

Sì come nella penna.


As pen and ink alike serve him who sings
        In high or low or intermediate style;
        As the same stone hath shapes both rich and vile
        To match the fancies that each master brings;
So, my loved lord, within thy bosom springs
        Pride mixed with meekness and kind thoughts that smile:
        Whence I draw nought, my sad self to beguile,
        But what my face shows--dark imaginings.
He who for seed sows sorrow, tears, and sighs,
        (The dews that fall from heaven, though pure and clear,
        From different germs take divers qualities)
Must needs reap grief and garner weeping eyes;
        And he who looks on beauty with sad cheer,
        Gains doubtful hope and certain miseries.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Sonnet XIV.

We are born at sunset and we die ere morn,
And the whole darkness of the world we know,
How can we guess its truth, to darkness born,
The obscure consequence of absent glow?
Only the stars do teach us light. We grasp
Their scattered smallnesses with thoughts that stray,
And, though their eyes look through night's complete mask,
Yet they speak not the features of the day.
Why should these small denials of the whole
More than the black whole the pleased eyes attract?
Why what it calls «worth» does the captive soul
Add to the small and from the large detract?
    So, put of light's love wishing it night's stretch,
    A nightly thought of day we darkly reach.

Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa