Poetry Window
2017.07.11 21:26
미켈란젤로의 연애시 3편
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Love's Dilemma
I' mi credetti.
Michelangelo Buonarroti
I deemed upon that day when first I knew
So many peerless beauties blent in one,
That, like an eagle gazing on the sun,
Mine eyes might fix on the least part of you.
That dream hath vanished, and my hope is flown;
For he who fain a seraph would pursue
Wingless, hath cast words to the winds, and dew
On stones, and gauged God's reason with his own.
If then my heart cannot endure the blaze
Of beauties infinite that blind these eyes,
Nor yet can bear to be from you divided,
What fate is mine? Who guides or guards my ways,
Seeing my soul, so lost and ill-betided,
Burns in your presence, in your absence dies?
Michelangelo: Divine Draftsman and Designer@The Metropolitan Museum
Love Is A Refiner's Fire
(Non più ch' 'l foco il fabbro)
Michelangelo Buonarroti
It is with fire that blacksmiths iron subdue
Unto fair form, the image of their thought:
Nor without fire hath any artist wrought
Gold to its utmost purity of hue.
Nay, nor the unmatched phoenix lives anew,
Unless she burn: if then I am distraught
By fire, I may to better life be brought
Like those whom death restores nor years undo.
The fire whereof I speak, is my great cheer;
Such power it hath to renovate and raise
Me who was almost numbered with the dead;
And since by nature fire doth find its sphere
Soaring aloft, and I am all ablaze,
Heavenward with it my flight must needs be sped.
Michelangelo: Divine Draftsman and Designer@The Metropolitan Museum
Love's Evening
(Se 'l troppo indugio)
Michelangelo Buonarroti
What though long waiting wins more happiness
Than petulant desire is wont to gain,
My luck in latest age hath brought me pain,
Thinking how brief must be an old man's bliss.
Heaven, if it heed our lives, can hardly bless
This fire of love when frosts are wont to reign:
For so I love thee, lady, and my strain
Of tears through age exceeds in tenderness.
Yet peradventure though my day is done,-
Though nearly past the setting mid thick cloud
And frozen exhalations sinks my sun,-
If love to only mid-day be allowed,
And I an old man in my evening burn,
You, lady, still my night to noon may turn.
Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
