Michael Angelo

Who shook thy roundness in his finger's cup?
Who sunk his hands in firmness down thy sides
And drew the circle of his grasp, O man,
Along thy limbs delighted as a bride's?

How wert thou so strange-shapen? What warm finger
Curved thy mouth for thee? and what strong shoulder
Planted thee upright? art proud to see
In the curves of thy form the trace of the unknown moulder?

Who took a handful of light and rolled a ball,
Compressed it till its beam grew wondrous dark,
Then gave thee thy dark eyes, O man! that all
The rest had doorway to thee through that spark?

Who, crouching, put his mouth down in a kiss
And kissed thee to a passion of life, and left
Life in thy mouth, and dim breath's hastening hiss?
Whence cometh this, that thou must guard from theft?

Whence cometh, whither goeth? still the same
Old question without answer! Strange and fain
Life comes to thee, on which thou hast no claim;
Then leaves thee, and thou canst not but complain!
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