POETRY

TRIUMPH OF BACCHUS AND ARIADNE   How beautiful is youth, who flees though! Who wants to be happy, either : tomorrow there is no certainty . This is Bacchus and Ariadne is this , beautiful , and the other is one of the burning : because time is running out and deceives , together they are always happy. These nymphs …

LOVE   What I have in my heart, burning like our age, I dare you speak, how to define it? Is it a burning mirror hit your picture? A thrilling portrait born of your memory?   See! I think it’s you, even in your absence, In sleep; eh what! can you still watch? This overwhelming happiness that gives your presence, …

Do not write. I am sad, and I would turn me. Beautiful summer without you, this is the night without a torch. I closed my arms cannot reach you, And hit my heart is knocking at the tomb.                  Do not write! Do not write. Do not learn to die to ourselves. God asks only that … you, if I …

ISABELLA MORRA: Clipped wings   Seeing that desire beautiful, You have clipped wings, that stood in my heart, cruel Fortune, so that all of your sake I live fast, I will say this style rough and brittle a part of my inner evil caused only by you of these plugs, between these bitter costumes of irrational people, devoid of wit, …

VAGUENESS OF LOVE From the diary-illustrated atlas TRAVEL IN ITALY, published by Meeting Benches in e-book format from March 20, 2014 (English and Italian language versions of) its own page, with a poem and a picture of Veronica Franco: “I am so vague, and so my beloved converse with those who know how to have more opportunity to learn, that, …

VERONICA FRANCO: Certezza di amore   “Se potessi Essere sicuro del Tuo amore per quello Spettacolo Che le parole e la Faccia, Spesso varia anima mantenere Coperta, e se QUESTO mantiene la Mente stessa ha Raccolto le orme di Fuori, in Modo Che Gli ALTRI Non Sono Spesso catturati in Frode, Che paura uscito da me, Che E per QUESTO …

Gli amorini, da Agnolo Poliziano. Oltre intorno alle amorini battute nude qua e là volando: che con le ali di mille colori le rose erano sparsi messa in onda, che riempivano la sua faretra di fiori freschi, quindi la stavano riversando sul letto, come la nuvola che cade rotto fermi sulle ali, e poi giù lo scuotimento.    

MARSILIO FICINO, Italian Renaissance poet: The eyes. The way in which that lovers suffer evil eye we said above, if much this will add to what was said: that mortals then blindside very evil eye, when they frequently direct their eyes to the eye than others, connecting with the lights, and miserable for those you love drink. The eyes are …