Angels who know everlasting deep joy
today long to suffer painful death, lest
their paradisal court privilege slave
over master--welcome them over Him.
The apple's alluring taste makes Eve cry:
she shut up elysium's doors against
her sons; two mulilated hands guide us
back through the path wandered from, through her lost.
The sun hides its dazzling corona; steep
teeming cliffs crumble; mountains rip open;
earthquakes, trembling skies, disturbed seas felt, seen.
Hell's ghosts always waiting, eager to wound
us cry over heavier chains--only
man doesn't cry--he cries when he is born.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V LXVII:227. This sonnet has been classified as devotional: B S1:24:97; R XXI:437-438; Valgrisi 24; MS L (Tordi 20v) and as erotic MS F (AB Italian Studies 21 , 52); R XXI:437-438. Translations: Roscoe 325; Anderson 304; Lefèvre-Deumier 100. It is to Michelangelo Buonarroti; one of a pair (see his "Non fur men lieti che turbati e tristi" ("No less delighted than disturbed and sad," No. 298, Saslow, 494). See also Clemens, Poetry of M, p 132. Key