Xviii. _Beauty And The Artist._ Poem by Michelangelo Buonarroti
Xviii. _Beauty And The Artist._
Al cor di zolfo.
A heart of flaming sulphur, flesh of tow,
Bones of dry wood, a soul without a guide
To curb the fiery will, the ruffling pride
Of fierce desires that from the passions flow;
A sightless mind that weak and lame doth go
Mid snares and pitfalls scattered far and wide;-
What wonder if the first chance brand applied
To fuel massed like this should make it glow?
Add beauteous art, which, brought with us from heaven,
Will conquer nature;-so divine a power
Belongs to him who strives with every nerve.
If I was made for art, from childhood given
A prey for burning beauty to devour,
I blame the mistress I was born to serve.
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4/25/2024 2:04:15 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Michelangelo Buonarroti 97. Al cor di zolfo, a la carne di stoppa Al cor di zolfo, a la carne di stoppa, a l’ossa che di secco legno sièno; a l’alma senza guida e senza freno al desir pronto, a la vaghezza troppa; a la cieca ragion debile e zoppa5 al vischio, a’ lacci di che ’l mondo è pieno; non è gran maraviglia, in un baleno arder nel primo foco che s’intoppa. A la bell’arte che, se dal ciel seco ciascun la porta, vince la natura,10 quantunche sé ben prema in ogni loco; s’i’ nacqui a quella né sordo né cieco, proporzionato a chi ’l cor m’arde e fura, colpa è di chi m’ha destinato al foco.