Xliii. _The Impeachment Of Night._ Poem by Michelangelo Buonarroti
Xliii. _The Impeachment Of Night._
Perchè Febo non torce.
What time bright Phoebus doth not stretch and bend
His shining arms around this terrene sphere,
The people call that season dark and drear
Night, for the cause they do not comprehend.
So weak is Night that if our hand extend
A glimmering torch, her shadows disappear,
Leaving her dead; like frailest gossamere,
Tinder and steel her mantle rive and rend.
Nay, if this Night be anything at all,
Sure she is daughter of the sun and earth;
This holds, the other spreads that shadowy pall.
Howbeit they err who praise this gloomy birth,
So frail and desolate and void of mirth
That one poor firefly can her might appal.
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4/25/2024 10:00:05 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Michelangelo Buonarroti - Rime 101. Perché Febo non torce e non distende Perché Febo non torce e non distende d’intorn’ a questo globo freddo e molle le braccia sua lucenti, el vulgo volle notte chiamar quel sol che non comprende. E tant’è debol, che s’alcun accende5 un picciol torchio, in quella parte tolle la vita dalla notte, e tant’è folle che l’esca col fucil la squarcia e fende. E s’egli è pur che qualche cosa sia cert’è figlia del sol e della terra; 10 ché l’un tien l’ombra, e l’altro sol la cria. Ma sia che vuol, che pur chi la loda erra, vedova, scura, in tanta gelosia, c’una lucciola sol gli può far guerra.