Online: Michelangelo 151

Online: Michelangelo 151

No brilliant artist any vision ever made that wasn’t there already, grafted by the block, beneath excess of marble, only caught by hands obedient to the brain. The evil I flee is hidden with my longed-for grace in You, beloved— blessèd, fair, but when I’ve sought, dear lady, to design it so, the work I’ve wrought has almost cut the life from me. My plans have failed. No fault of love’s or of your scorn, however harsh, or fortune, luck, your beauty or my fate, these evil states by which I’m so beset— with death and mercy held together in your heart, the only thing my lowly talents make, however ardently they burn, is death.

Online: Michelangelo 161

Per qual mordace lima discresce e manca ognor tuo stanca spoglia, anima inferma? Or quando fie ti scoglia da quella il tempo, e torni ov’eri, in cielo, candida e lieta prima, deposto il periglioso e mortal velo? Ch’ancor ch’i’ cangi ‘l pelo per gli ultim’anni e corti, cangiar non posso il vecchio mie antico uso, che con più giorni più mi sforza e preme. Amore, a te nol celo, ch’i’ porto invidia a’ morti, sbigottito e confuso, sì di sé meco l’alma trema e teme. Signor, nell’ore streme, stendi ver’ me le tuo pietose braccia, tomm’a me stesso e famm’un che ti piaccia.