|
|
|
No mortal thing enthralled these longing eyes
When perfect peace in thy fair face I found: But far within, where all is holy ground, My soul felt Love, her comrade of the skies: For she was born with God in Paradise; Nor all the shows of beauty shed around This fair false world her wings to earth have bound; Unto the Love of Loves aloft she flies. Nay, things that suffer death quench not the fire Of deathless spirits; nor eternity Serves sordid Time, that withers all things rare. Not love but lawless impulse is desire: That slays the soul; our love makes still more fair Our friends on earth, fairer in death on high. Michelangelo Buonarroti (1474-1564) |
 If you have any suggestions or questions regarding these poems please email me |
