Strike through the clouds, and smile when death is near,
If death so glorious be our doom at all!





THE SONNETS

OF

MICHAEL ANGELO BUONARROTI




I.

_ON DANTE ALIGHIERI._

_Dal ciel discese._


From heaven his spirit came, and robed in clay
The realms of justice and of mercy trod,
Then rose a living man to gaze on God,
That he might make the truth as clear as day.
For that pure star that brightened with his ray
The undeserving nest where I was born,
The whole wide world would be a prize to scorn;