To Giorgio Vasari. On The Brink Of Death.

Giunto è già.


Now hath my life across a stormy sea
        Like a frail bark reached that wide port where all
        Are bidden, ere the final reckoning fall
        Of good and evil for eternity.

Now know I well how that fond phantasy
        Which made my soul the worshipper and thrall
        Of earthly art, is vain; how criminal
        Is that which all men seek unwillingly.

Those amorous thoughts which were so lightly dressed,
        What are they when the double death is nigh?
        The one I know for sure, the other dread.

Painting nor sculpture now can lull to rest
        My soul that turns to His great love on high,
        Whose arms to clasp us on the cross were spread.

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's Argument With Reason.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - Apology By Paradox.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Resurrection.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

A Prayer For Aid.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

English

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Waiting For Death.

Di morte certo.


        My death must come; but when, I do not know:
        Life's short, and little life remains for me:
        Fain would my flesh abide; my soul would flee
        Heavenward, for still she calls on me to go.

        Blind is the world; and evil here below
        O'erwhelms and triumphs over honesty:
        The light is quenched; quenched too is bravery:
        Lies reign, and truth hath ceased her face to show.

        When will that day dawn, Lord, for which he waits
        Who trusts in Thee? Lo, this prolonged delay
        Destroys all hope and robs the soul of life.

        Why streams the light from those celestial gates,
        If death prevent the day of grace, and stay
        Our souls for ever in...

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

After The Death Of Vittoria Colonna. After Sunset.

Be' mi dove'.


Well might I in those days so fortunate,
        What time the sun lightened my path above,
        Have soared from earth to heaven, raised by her love
        Who winged my labouring soul and sweetened fate.

That sun hath set; and I with hope elate
        Who deemed that those bright days would never move,
        Find that my thankless soul, deprived thereof,
        Declines to death, while heaven still bars the gate.

Love lent me wings; my path was like a stair;
        A lamp unto my feet, that sun was given;
        And death was safety and great joy to find.

But dying now, I shall not climb to heaven;
        Nor can mere memory cheer my heart's despair:--
        What help remains when hope is left behind?

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Love And Death.

Ognor che l' idol mio.


Whene'er the idol of these eyes appears
        Unto my musing heart so weak and strong,
        Death comes between her and my soul ere long
        Chasing her thence with troops of gathering fears.
Nathless this violence my spirit cheers
        With better hope than if she had no wrong;
        While Love invincible arrays the throng
        Of dauntless thoughts, and thus harangues his peers:
But once, he argues, can a mortal die;
        But once be born: and he who dies afire,
        What shall he gain if erst he dwelt with me?
That burning love whereby the soul flies free,
        Doth lure each fervent spirit to aspire
        Like gold refined in flame to God on high.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

To Giorgio Vasari. Vanity Of Vanities.

Le favole del mondo.


The fables of the world have filched away
        The time I had for thinking upon God;
        His grace lies buried 'neath oblivion's sod,
        Whence springs an evil crop of sins alway.

What makes another wise, leads me astray,
        Slow to discern the bad path I have trod:
        Hope fades; but still desire ascends that God
        May free me from self-love, my sure decay.

Shorten half-way my road to heaven from earth!
        Dear Lord, I cannot even half-way rise,
        Unless Thou help me on this pilgrimage.

Teach me to hate the world so little worth,
        And all the lovely things I clasp and prize;
        That endless life, ere death, may be my wage.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

After The Death Of Vittoria Colonna. Love's Triumph Over Death.

Quand' el ministro de' sospir.


When she who was the source of all my sighs,
        Fled from the world, herself, my straining sight,
        Nature who gave us that unique delight,
        Was sunk in shame, and we had weeping eyes.
Yet shall not vauntful Death enjoy this prize,
        This sun of suns which then he veiled in night;
        For Love hath triumphed, lifting up her light
        On earth and mid the saints in Paradise.
What though remorseless and impiteous doom
        Deemed that the music of her deeds would die,
        And that her splendour would be sunk in gloom,
The poet's page exalts her to the sky
        With life more living in the lifeless tomb,
        And death translates her soul to reign on high.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

To Giorgio Vasari. On The Lives Of The Painters.

Se con lo stile.


With pencil and with palette hitherto
        You made your art high Nature's paragon;
        Nay more, from Nature her own prize you won,
        Making what she made fair more fair to view.
Now that your learnéd hand with labour new
        Of pen and ink a worthier work hath done,
        What erst you lacked, what still remained her own,
        The power of giving life, is gained for you.
If men in any age with Nature vied
        In beauteous workmanship, they had to yield
        When to the fated end years brought their name.
You, reilluming memories that died,
        In spite of Time and Nature have revealed
        For them and for yourself eternal fame.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni