The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - To Telesius Of Cosenza.

Telesio, il telo.


Telesius, the arrow from thy bow
        Midmost his band of sophists slays that high
        Tyrant of souls that think; he cannot fly:
        While Truth soars free, loosed by the self-same blow.
Proud lyres with thine immortal praises glow,
        Smitten by bards elate with victory:
        Lo, thine own Cavalcante, stormfully
        Lightning, still strikes the fortress of the foe!
Good Gaieta bedecks our saint serene
        With robes translucent, light-irradiate,
        Restoring her to all her natural sheen;
The while my tocsin at the temple-gate
        Of the wide universe proclaims her queen,
        Pythia of first and last ordained by fate.

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

Love In Youth And Age. Second Reading.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - A Parable Of Wise Men And The World.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

Waiting For Death.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

Joy May Kill.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

English

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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

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 Sage On Earth.

Sciolto e legato.


Bound and yet free, companioned and alone,
        Loud mid my silence, I confound my foes:
        Men think me fool in this vile world of woes;
        God's wisdom greets me sage from heaven's high throne.
With wings on earth oppressed aloft I bound;
        My gleeful soul sad bonds of flesh enclose:
        And though sometimes too great the burden grows,
        These pinions bear me upward from the ground.
A doubtful combat proves the warrior's might:
        Short is all time matched with eternity:
        Nought than a pleasing burden is more light.
My brows I bind with my love's effigy,
        Sure that my joyous flight will soon be sped
        Where without speech my thoughts shall all be read.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - A Writer Of Eclogues. To Annibale Caraccioli,

Non Licida, nè Driope.


Lycoris, Lycidas, and Dryope
        Cannot, dear Niblo, save thy name from death;
        Shadows that fleet, and flowers that yield their breath,
        Match not the Love that craves infinity.
The beauty thou dost worship dwells in thee:
        Within thy soul divine it harboureth:
        This also bids my spirit soar, and saith
        Words that unsphere for me heaven's harmony.
Make then thine inborn lustre beam and shine
        With love of goodness; goodness cannot fail:
        From God alone let praise immense be thine.
My soul is tired of telling o'er the tale
        With men: she calls on thine: she bids thee go
        Into God's school with tablets white as snow.

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 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