Love's Excuse.

Dal dolcie pianto.


From happy tears to woeful smiles, from peace
        Eternal to a brief and hollow truce,
        How have I fallen!--when 'tis truth we lose,
        Sense triumphs o'er all adverse impulses.
I know not if my heart bred this disease,
        That still more pleasing grows with growing use;
        Or else thy face, thine eyes, which stole the hues
        And fires of Paradise--less fair than these.
Thy beauty is no mortal thing; 'twas sent
        From heaven on high to make our earth divine:
        Wherefore, though wasting, burning, I'm content;
For in thy sight what could I do but pine?
        If God himself thus rules my destiny,
        Who, when I die, can lay the blame on thee?

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

Beauty's Intolerable Splendour.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

After The Death Of Vittoria Colonna. After Sunset.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

Love And Art.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

Love's Argument With Reason.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

English

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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

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

Love's Vain Expense.

Rendete a gli occhi miei.


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 sh...

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

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 Evening.

Se 'l troppo indugio.


What though long waiting wins more happiness
        Than petulant desire is wont to gain,
        My luck in latest age hath brought me pain,
        Thinking how brief must be an old man's bliss.
Heaven, if it heed our lives, can hardly bless
        This fire of love when frosts are wont to reign:
        For so I love thee, lady, and my strain
        Of tears through age exceeds in tenderness.
Yet peradventure though my day is done,--
        Though nearly past the setting mid thick cloud
        And frozen exhalations sinks my sun,--
If love to only mid-day be allowed,
        And I an old man in my evening burn,
        You, lady, still my night to noon may turn.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni