Michelangeloprose trans. Christopher Ryan

Ben può talor col mie 'rdente desio
salir la speme e non esser fallace,
ché s'ogni nostro affetto al ciel dispiace,
a che fin fatto arebbe il mondo Iddio?
Qual più giusta cagion dell'amart'io
è, che dar gloria a quella eterna pace
onde pende il divin che di te piace,
e c'ogni cor gentil fa casto e pio?
Fallace speme ha sol l'amor che muore
con la beltà c'ogni momento scema,
ond'è suggetta al variar d'un bel viso.
Dolce è ben quella in un pudico core,
che per cangiar di scorza o d'ora strema
non manca, e qui caparra il paradiso.
Hope can indeed at times ascend on high with my burning desire and not prove false, for if all our emotions were displeasing to heaven, to what end would God have made the world? What juster reason for my loving you can there be, than to give glory to that eternal peace from which derives the divine element in you that brings pleasure, and that makes every noble heart pure and devout? False hope is harboured only by that love which dies with the beauty that is worn away by each passing minute, and so is subject to the variation wrought in a beautiful face. Sweet indeed is the hope found in a chaste heart: it does not fail because of changes caused in the husk or brought by the final hour, and is here below a pledge of paradise.

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Trans. copyright © J.M.Dent 1996 - publ. J.M.Dent

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