As I, had Michael Angelo discerned
What you (as Beauty's child) but represent
Then he upon that Chapel had not spent
Good time on that for which past masses yearned.
That fire within him had more brightly burned
Had he, on seeing you, impassioned, lent
What proved so natural to his native bent
That what he did had proved what he had spurned.
But your fair Beauty never graced his eye,
Hence he, though great, fell short (in retrospect)
Ne'er knowing I was blessed to see and sigh.
But I (yet swooning) cannot, Love, neglect
My love's full grant to you before I die,
Nor far too long (in awe's domain) reflect!