Pardon the bad poetry, but who am I thinking of?

Uncle Sam took a journey to France,
Sky-high wisps for to move with his feet,
And to feel a particular emotion,
A feeling so humble and sweet.

He'd have liked to go buy up his favorite,
But, alas, there were none in the stack.
There was someone who did get to buy it,
But disliked it, and gave it right back.

He cut a short story in quarters,
Then daydreamed of young golden cows,
But that night, he was up without slumber,
Thinking thoughts while he furrowed his brows.

Pardon the bad poetry, but who am I thinking of?

Uncle Sam took a journey to France,
Sky-high wisps for to move with his feet,
And to feel a particular emotion,
A feeling so down-low and sweet.

He'd have liked to go buy up his favorite,
But, alas, there were none in the stack.
There was someone who did get to buy it,
But disliked it, and gave it right back.

He cut a short story in quarters,
Then daydreamed of young golden cows,
But that night, he was up without slumber,
Thinking thoughts while he furrowed his brows.

(Of course, I came up with this myself)