Yes, he was darkly haunted, we may say, When in the Sixtine, far from festal Rome Alone he painted wall or floating dome With sibyls, prophet, and the Judgement Day. He heard within him, weeping hard alway, The Titan he would chain 'bove eagles' home, Love, country, glory and defeat, -- like foam In face of conquering death; his marble -- falsest clay! As well those heavy giants languid with strength, Those slaves imprisoned in a stone vein's length, As if he twisted them in their strange birth, And in the marble cold had thrust his soul, Making a fearful shiver through it roll The anger of a god down-borne by earth. |