ART
Give to barrows, trays, and pans,
Grace and glimmer of romance,
Bring the moonlight into noon
Hid in gleaming piles of stone ;
On the city's paved street
Plant gardens lined with lilac sweet ;
Let spouting fountains cool the air,
Singing in the sun-baked square ;
Let statue, picture, park and hall,
Ballad, flag and festival,
The past restore, the day adorn,
And make each morrow a new morn.
So shall the drudge in dusty frock
Spy behind the city clock
Retinues of airy kings,
Skirts of angels, starry wings,
His father shining in bright fables,
His children fed at heavenly tables.
'T is the privilege of Art
Tus to play in cheerful part,
Man in Earth to acclimate,
And bend the exile to his fate,
And, molded of one element,
With the days and firmament,
Teach him on these as stairs to climb,
And live on even terms with Time ;
Whilst upper life the slender rill
Of human sens doth overfill.