The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Present.

Convien al secol nostro.


Black robes befit our age. Once they were white;
        Next many-hued; now dark as Afric's Moor,
        Night-black, infernal, traitorous, obscure,
        Horrid with ignorance and sick with fright.
For very shame we shun all colours bright,
        Who mourn our end--the tyrants we endure,
        The chains, the noose, the lead, the snares, the lure--
        Our dismal heroes, our souls sunk in night.
Black weeds again denote that extreme folly
        Which makes us blind, mournful, and woe-begone:
        For dusk is dear to doleful melancholy;
Nathless fate's wheel still turns: this raiment dun
        We shall exchange hereafter for the holy
        Garments of white in which of yore we shone.

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 - The True Kings.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

A Prayer For Strength.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Sage On Earth.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Heavenly Birth Of Love And Beauty.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

English

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The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Future.

Veggo in candida robba.


Clothed in white robes I see the Holy Sire
        Descend to hold his court amid the band
        Of shining saints and elders: at his hand
        The white immortal Lamb commands their choir.
John ends his long lament for torments dire,
        Now Judah's lion rises to expand
        The fatal book, and the first broken band
        Sends the white courier forth to work God's ire.
The first fair spirits raimented in white
        Go out to meet him who on his white cloud
        Comes heralded by horsemen white as snow.
Ye black-stoled folk, be dumb, who hate the loud
        Blare of God's lifted angel-trumpets! Lo,
        The pure white dove puts the black crows to flight!

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Year 1603.

Già sto mirando.


The first heaven-wandering lights I see ascend
        Upon the seventh and ninth centenary,
        When in the Archer's realm three years shall be
        Added, this aeon and our age to end.
Thou too, Mercurius, like a scribe dost lend
        Thine aid to promulgate that dread decree,
        Stored in the archives of eternity,
        And signed and sealed by powers no prayers can bend.
O'er Europe's full meridian on thy morn
        In the tenth house thy court I see thee hold:
        The Sun with thee consents in Capricorn.
God grant that I may keep this mortal breath
        Until I too that glorious day behold
        Which shall at last confound the sons of death!

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Modern Cupid.

Son tremil' anni.


Through full three thousand years the world reveres
        Blind Love that bears the quiver and hath wings:
        Now too he's deaf, and to the sufferings
        Of folk in anguish turns impiteous ears.
Of gold he's greedy, and dark raiment wears;
        A child no more, that naked sports and sings,
        But a sly greybeard; no gold shaft he flings,
        Now that fire-arms have cursed these latter years.
Charcoal and sulphur, thunder, lead, and smoke,
        That leave the flesh with plagues of hell diseased,
        And drive the craving spirit deaf and blind,
These are his weapons. But my bell hath broke
        Her silence. Yield, thou deaf, blind, tainted beast,
        To the wise fervour of a blameless mind!

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - To The Poets.

In superbia il valor.


Valour to pride hath turned; grave holiness
        To vile hypocrisy; all gentle ways
        To empty forms; sound sense to idle lays;
        Pure love to heat; beauty to paint and dress:--
Thanks to you, Poets! you who sing the praise
        Of fabled knights, foul fires, lies, nullities;
        Not virtue, nor the wrapped sublimities
        Of God, as bards were wont in those old days.
How far more wondrous than your phantasies
        Are Nature's works, how far more sweet to sing!
        Thus taught, the soul falsehood and truth descries.
That tale alone is worth the pondering,
        Which hath not smothered history in lies,
        And arms the soul against each sinful thing.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Proem.

Io che nacqui dal Senno.


Born of God's Wisdom and Philosophy,
        Keen lover of true beauty and true good,
        I call the vain self-traitorous multitude
        Back to my mother's milk; for it is she,
Faithful to God her spouse, who nourished me,
        Making me quick and active to intrude
        Within the inmost veil, where I have viewed
        And handled all things in eternity.
If the whole world's our home where we may run,
        Up, friends, forsake those secondary schools
        Which give grains, units, inches for the whole!
If facts surpass mere words, melt pride of soul,
        And pain, and ignorance that hardens fools,
        Here in the fire I've stolen from the Sun!

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Millennium.

Non piaccia a Dio.


Nay, God forbid that mid these tragic throes
        To idle comedy my thought should bend,
        When torments dire and warning woes portend
        Of this our world the instantaneous close!
The day approaches which shall discompose
        All earthly sects, the elements shall blend
        In utter ruin, and with joy shall send
        Just spirits to their spheres in heaven's repose.
The Highest comes in Holy Land to hold
        His sovran court and synod sanctified,
        As all the psalms and prophets have foretold:
The riches of his grace He will spread wide
        Through his own realm, that seat and chosen fold
        Of worship and free mercies multiplied.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni