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