hope may with my strong desire keep pace,
And I be undeluded, unbetrayed;
For if of our affections none finds [1] grace
In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made
The world which we inhabit?
And I be undeluded, unbetrayed;
For if of our affections none finds [1] grace
In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made
The world which we inhabit?
William Wordsworth
--I.
F.
]
Compare the two sonnets entitled 'At Florence--from Michael Angelo', in
the "Memorials of a Tour in Italy" in 1837.
The following extract from a letter of Wordsworth's to Sir George
Beaumont, dated October 17, 1805, will cast light on the next three
sonnets.
"I mentioned Michael Angelo's poetry some time ago; it is the most
difficult to construe I ever met with, but just what you would expect
from such a man, shewing abundantly how conversant his soul was with
great things. There is a mistake in the world concerning the Italian
language; the poetry of Dante and Michael Angelo proves, that if there
be little majesty and strength in Italian verse, the fault is in the
authors, and not in the tongue. I can translate, and have translated
two books of Ariosto, at the rate, nearly, of one hundred lines a day;
but so much meaning has been put by Michael Angelo into so little
room, and that meaning sometimes so excellent in itself, that I found
the difficulty of translating him insurmountable. I attempted, at
least, fifteen of the sonnets, but could not anywhere succeed. I have
sent you the only one I was able to finish; it is far from being the
best, or most characteristic, but the others were too much for me. "
The last of the three sonnets probably belongs to the year 1804, as it
is quoted in a letter to Sir George Beaumont, dated Grasmere, August 6.
The year is not given, but I think it must have been 1804, as he says
that "within the last month," he had written, "700 additional lines" of
'The Prelude'; and that poem was finished in May 1805.
The titles given to them make it necessary to place these Sonnets in the
order which follows.
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets. "--Ed.
I
Yes!
hope may with my strong desire keep pace,
And I be undeluded, unbetrayed;
For if of our affections none finds [1] grace
In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made
The world which we inhabit? Better plea 5
Love cannot have, than that in loving thee
Glory to that eternal Peace is paid,
Who such divinity to thee imparts
As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts.
His hope is treacherous only whose love dies 10
With beauty, which is varying every hour;
But, in chaste hearts uninfluenced by the power
Of outward change, there blooms a deathless flower,
That breathes on earth the air of paradise.
* * * * *
VARIANT ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1849.
. . . find . . . 1807. ]
* * * * *
FROM THE SAME
Translated 1805? --Published 1807
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets. "--Ed.
II
No mortal object did these eyes behold
When first they met the placid light of thine,
And my Soul felt her destiny divine, [1]
And hope of endless peace in me grew bold:
Heaven-born, the Soul a heaven-ward course must hold; 5
Beyond the visible world she soars to seek
(For what delights the sense is false and weak)
Ideal Form, the universal mould.
The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest
In that which perishes: nor will he lend 10
His heart to aught which doth on time depend.
Compare the two sonnets entitled 'At Florence--from Michael Angelo', in
the "Memorials of a Tour in Italy" in 1837.
The following extract from a letter of Wordsworth's to Sir George
Beaumont, dated October 17, 1805, will cast light on the next three
sonnets.
"I mentioned Michael Angelo's poetry some time ago; it is the most
difficult to construe I ever met with, but just what you would expect
from such a man, shewing abundantly how conversant his soul was with
great things. There is a mistake in the world concerning the Italian
language; the poetry of Dante and Michael Angelo proves, that if there
be little majesty and strength in Italian verse, the fault is in the
authors, and not in the tongue. I can translate, and have translated
two books of Ariosto, at the rate, nearly, of one hundred lines a day;
but so much meaning has been put by Michael Angelo into so little
room, and that meaning sometimes so excellent in itself, that I found
the difficulty of translating him insurmountable. I attempted, at
least, fifteen of the sonnets, but could not anywhere succeed. I have
sent you the only one I was able to finish; it is far from being the
best, or most characteristic, but the others were too much for me. "
The last of the three sonnets probably belongs to the year 1804, as it
is quoted in a letter to Sir George Beaumont, dated Grasmere, August 6.
The year is not given, but I think it must have been 1804, as he says
that "within the last month," he had written, "700 additional lines" of
'The Prelude'; and that poem was finished in May 1805.
The titles given to them make it necessary to place these Sonnets in the
order which follows.
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets. "--Ed.
I
Yes!
hope may with my strong desire keep pace,
And I be undeluded, unbetrayed;
For if of our affections none finds [1] grace
In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made
The world which we inhabit? Better plea 5
Love cannot have, than that in loving thee
Glory to that eternal Peace is paid,
Who such divinity to thee imparts
As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts.
His hope is treacherous only whose love dies 10
With beauty, which is varying every hour;
But, in chaste hearts uninfluenced by the power
Of outward change, there blooms a deathless flower,
That breathes on earth the air of paradise.
* * * * *
VARIANT ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1849.
. . . find . . . 1807. ]
* * * * *
FROM THE SAME
Translated 1805? --Published 1807
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets. "--Ed.
II
No mortal object did these eyes behold
When first they met the placid light of thine,
And my Soul felt her destiny divine, [1]
And hope of endless peace in me grew bold:
Heaven-born, the Soul a heaven-ward course must hold; 5
Beyond the visible world she soars to seek
(For what delights the sense is false and weak)
Ideal Form, the universal mould.
The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest
In that which perishes: nor will he lend 10
His heart to aught which doth on time depend.
