Trinity Journal of Literary Translation
Michelangelo 95 Fountain— river, give back to my eyes
those endless breakers, never yours,
that surge you further than your natural course,
from a vein that swells beneath you as you rise. O humid air, so heavy with my sighs—
shielding the brightness from these mournful orbs,
return them to my tired heart and clear, once more, your darkened features for my sharpened sight.
Let the soil give back my footsteps to my soles
so the grass they trampled might sprout anew, and from Echo, deaf, return my pleas,
and to my eyes the glances from your hallowed glow –
that I, now you no longer feel for me,
might love some other beauty after you.
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