THE DOOM OF BEAUTY

by: Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)

      HOICE soul, in whom, as in a glass, we see,
      Mirrored in thy pure form and delicate,
      What beauties heaven and nature can create,
      The paragon of all their works to be!
      Fair soul, in whom love, pity, piety,
      Have found a home, as from thy outward state
      We clearly read, and are so rare and great
      That they adorn none other like to thee!
      Love takes me captive; beauty binds my soul;
      Pity and mercy with their gentle eyes
      Wake in my heart a hope that cannot cheat.
      What law, what destiny, what fell control,
      What cruelty, or late or soon, denies
      That death should spare perfection so complete?

This English translation of "The Doom of Beauty" was composed by John Addington Symonds (1840-1893).

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