Gaspara Stampa was an Italian poet.
Born in Padua, Stampa's father, Bartolomeo, originally from Milan, was a jewel and gold merchant in Padua. When Stampa was eight, her father died and her mother, Cecilia, moved to Venice with her children Gaspara, Cassandra, and Baldassarre; whom she educated to literature, music, history, and painting. Gaspara and Cassandra excelled at singing and playing the lute, possibly due to training by Tuttovale Menon. Early on, the Stampa household became a literary club, visited by many well-known Venetian writers, painters and musicians.
When her brother died in 1544, Stampa suffered greatly and formed the intention of ... more »
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Gaspara Stampa Poems
When before those eyes, my life and light, my beauty and fortune in the world, I stand, the style, speech, passion, genius I command, the thoughts, conceits, feelings I incite,
If I, who am an abject, low-born woman, Can bear within me such lofty fire, Why should I not possess at least a little Poetic power to tell it to the world?
Harsh is my fortune, but harsher still is the fate dealt me by my count: he flees from me, I follow him; others long for me, I cannot look at another man's face.
O night to me more splendid and more blessed Than the most blessed and most splendid of days, Night worthy of the most exalted praise, Not just of mine, unworthy and distressed,
I swear to you, Love, by your arrows
I swear to you, Love, by your arrows, And by your powerful holy flame, I care not if by one I’m maimed, My heart burned, wasted by the other
Every planet above, and every star
Every planet above, and every star, Gave my lord their powers at his birth: Each one gave him of their special worth,
By Now So Sick Of Waiting
By now so sick of waiting, I'm by now so beaten by the pain (by now the burn won't stop and he forgets so quickly how I trust in his return and ho ...
O all my labours scattered uselessly
O all my labours scattered uselessly O, all my useless scattered sighs, O loyalty, that never, O living fire, Chilled or burned others so, if I s ...
LADIES, who of my lord would fain be told, Picture a gentle knight, full sweet to see, Though young in years, in wisdom passing old, Model of glory and of valiancy;
DEEPLY repentant of my sinful ways And of my trivial, manifold desires, Of squandering, alas, these few brief days Of fugitive life in tending love's vain fires.
Love, do you know why your fair mother gave you These arrows to your hands, and bound your eyes? That you may shoot the first wound and break The heart of this or any faithful lover;
Place me where ocean breaks with angry roar, Or where the waters lie serene and calm, Place me wherever sun shoots sparks that scorch Or where the ice pierces with sharpest pain,
Toward that sweet nest where I remained though parting, And where the better part of me still lingers, Whether the weary sun returns or leaves, I always spread the wings of my desire.
Comments about Gaspara Stampa
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Love made me such that I live in fire
like a new salamander on earth
or like that other rare creature, the Phoenix,
who expires and rises at the same time