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

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 Dungeon.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

Love Misinterpreted.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

On Dante Alighieri.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Proem.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

English

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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

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Soul's Apology.

Ben sei mila anni.


Six thousand years or more on earth I've been:
        Witness those histories of nations dead,
        Which for our age I have illustrated
        In philosophic volumes, scene by scene.
And thou, mere mite, seeing my sun serene
        Eclipsed, wilt argue that I had no head
        To live by.--Why not try the sun instead,
        If nought in fate unfathomed thou hast seen?
If wise men, whom the world rebukes, combined
        With tyrant wolves, brute beasts we should become.
        The sage, once stoned for sin, you canonise.
When rennet melts, much milk makes haste to bind.
        The more you blow the flames, the more they rise,
        Bloom into stars, and find in heaven their home.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

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

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - To Venice.

Nuova arca di Noè.


New Ark of Noah! when the cruel scourge
        Of that barbarian tyrant like a wave
        Went over Italy, thou then didst save
        The seed of just men on the weltering surge.
Here, still by discord and foul servitude
        Untainted, thou a hero brood dost raise,
        Powerful and prudent. Due to thee their praise
        Of maiden pure, of teeming motherhood!
Thou wonder of the world, Rome's loyal heir,
        Thou pride and strong support of Italy,
        Dial of princes, school of all things wise!
Thou like Arcturus steadfast in the skies,
        With tardy sense guidest thy kingdom fair,
        Bearing alone the load of liberty.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - To Tobia Adami.

Portando in man.


Holding the cynic lantern in your hand,
        Through Europe, Egypt, Asia, you have passed,
        Till at Ausonia's feet you find at last
        That Cyclops' cave, where I, to darkness banned,
In light eternal forge for you the brand
        Against Abaddon, who hath overcast
        The truth and right, Adami, made full fast
        Unto God's glory by our steadfast band.
Go, smite each sophist, tyrant, hypocrite!
        Girt with the arms of the first Wisdom, free
        Your country from the frauds that cumber it!
Swerve not: 'twere sin. How good, how great the praise
        Of him who turns youth, strength, soul, energy,
        Unto the dayspring of the eternal rays!

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni