Tome,  Livre, Comp.
1    1,     1,    XVII|  est l’art immense.~ ~ ~ ~Michel-Ange, grand vieillard,~ ~En larges
2    1,     1,    XVII| Cellini~ ~Vaut le bloc de Michel-Ange~ ~ ~ ~Tout est grand ; sombre
3    2,     3,   XXIII|      Et dans tes mains, ô Michel-Ange,~ ~L’enfant devient spectre,
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