A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Sonnet—Michael Angelo (Auguste Barbier)

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How sad was thy look, and thoughtful thy brow,
Brave Michael Angelo, artist in stone!
Tears ne'er wetted thy lids, and never shone
Smiles on thy lips; like Dante, stern wert thou!
No milk for thy food the Muse would allow,
Reared on strong meat, Art was thy love alone.
A threefold career! Sixty years! Unknown
The soft affections as bound by a vow.
Poor Buonarotti! Thy work was thy glory—
To stamp on the marble a grandeur profound!
Mighty, to strike a deep terror around;
And when it came, the close of thy story,
Thou wert like an old lion stretched on the ground
With its cloud of a mane dishevelled and hoary.