To Vittoria Colonna. A Matchless Courtesy.

Felice spirto.


Blest spirit, who with loving tenderness
        Quickenest my heart so old and near to die,
        Who mid thy joys on me dost bend an eye
        Though many nobler men around thee press!
As thou wert erewhile wont my sight to bless,
        So to console my mind thou now dost fly;
        Hope therefore stills the pangs of memory,
        Which coupled with desire my soul distress.
So finding in thee grace to plead for me--
        Thy thoughts for me sunk in so sad a case--
        He who now writes, returns thee thanks for these.
Lo, it were foul and monstrous usury
        To send thee ugliest paintings in the place
        Of thy fair spirit's living phantasies.

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 Blood Of Christ.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

After The Death Of Vittoria Colonna. After Sunset.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - An Exhortation To Mankind.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

Thanks For A Gift.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

To Vittoria Colonna. Brazen Gifts For Golden.

Per esser manco almen.


Seeking at least to be not all unfit
        For thy sublime and boundless courtesy,
        My lowly thoughts at first were fain to try
        What they could yield for grace so infinite.
But now I know my unassisted wit
        Is all too weak to make me soar so high;
        For pardon, lady, for this fault I cry,
        And wiser still I grow remembering it.
Yea, well I see what folly 'twere to think
        That largess dropped from thee like dews from heaven
        Could e'er be paid by work so frail as mine!
To nothingness my art and talent sink;
        He fails who from his mortal stores hath given
        A thousandfold to match one gift divine.

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

Love's Servitude.

Perhaps To Vittoria Colonna.

S' alcun legato è pur.


He who is bound by some great benefit,
        As to be raised from death to life again,
        How shall he recompense that gift, or gain
        Freedom from servitude so infinite?
Yet if 'twere possible to pay the debt,
        He'd lose that kindness which we entertain
        For those who serve us well; since it is plain
        That kindness needs some boon to quicken it.
Wherefore, O lady, to maintain thy grace,
        So far above my fortune, what I bring
        Is rather thanklessness than courtesy:
For if both met as equals face to face,
        She whom I love could not be called my king;--
        There is no lordship in equality.

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

Second Reading. To Vittoria Colonna. The Model And The Statue.

Se ben concetto.


When that which is divine in us doth try
        To shape a face, both brain and hand unite
        To give, from a mere model frail and slight,
        Life to the stone by Art's free energy.
Thus too before the painter dares to ply
        Paint-brush or canvas, he is wont to write
        Sketches on scraps of paper, and invite
        Wise minds to judge his figured history.
So, born a model rude and mean to be
        Of my poor self, I gain a nobler birth,
        Lady, from you, you fountain of all worth!
Each overplus and each deficiency
        You will make good. What penance then is due
        For my fierce heat, chastened and taught by you?

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

To Luigi Del Riccio.

Nel dolce d' una.


It happens that the sweet unfathomed sea
        Of seeming courtesy sometimes doth hide
        Offence to life and honour. This descried,
        I hold less dear the health restored to me.
He who lends wings of hope, while secretly
        He spreads a traitorous snare by the wayside,
        Hath dulled the flame of love, and mortified
        Friendship where friendship burns most fervently.
Keep then, my dear Luigi, clear and pure
        That ancient love to which my life I owe,
        That neither wind nor storm its calm may mar.
For wrath and pain our gratitude obscure;
        And if the truest truth of love I know,
        One pang outweighs a thousand pleasures far.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni