Crudele, acerbo e dispietato core,
vestito di dolcezza e d’amar pieno,
tuo fede al tempo nasce, e dura meno
c’al dolce verno non fa ciascun fiore.
    Muovesi ‘l tempo, e compartisce l’ore
al viver nostr’un pessimo veneno;
lu’ come falce e no’ siàn come fieno,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
    La fede è corta e la beltà non dura,
ma di par seco par che si consumi,
come ‘l peccato tuo vuol de’ mie danni.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
sempre fra noi fare’ con tutti gli anni.

Il vostro Michelangelo Buonarroti

Rancorous heart, cruel, pitiless, though showing

Rancorous heart, cruel, pitiless, though showing

what looks like sweetness – but the bitter core!

Your faith! as changeable as time, no more

likely to last than any springtime flower.

Time moves and doles itself out, hour by hour;

no deadlier poison in our lives! Or say

it’s like the sickle and we’re like the hay

………………………….

Taith is soon over. And no beauty lasts,

but, rapidly as faith does, wears away,

just as your sin would have my trubles fly

……………………..

……………………….

do with us always as the years go by.

Yours Michelangelo Buonarroti

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