Must I live here, with Scripture on my walls, Death-cards with rocks and anchors; on my shelf Plain men and women with plain histories A proud landlady knows, and no one else? Let me have pictures of a richer kind: Scenes in low taverns, with their beggar rogues Singing and drinking ale; who buy more joy With a few pence than others can with pounds. Show gipsies on wild commons, camped at fires Close to their caravans; where they cook flesh They have not bought, and plants not sold to them. Show me the picture of a drinking monk With his round belly like a mare in foal, Belted, to keep his guts from falling out When he laughs hearty; or a maid's bare back, Who teases me with a bewitching smile Thrown over her white shoulder. Let me see The picture of a sleeping damosel, Who has a stream of shining hair to fill Up that deep channel banked by her white breasts. Has Beauty never smiled from off these walls, Has Genius never entered in a book? Nay, Madam, keep your room; for in my box I have a lovely picture of young Eve, Before she knew what sewing was. Alas! If I hung on your wall her naked form, Among your graves and crosses, Scripture texts, Your death-cards with their anchors and their rocks -- What then? I think this life a joyful thing, And, like a bird that sees a sleeping cat, I leave with haste your death-preparing room. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOOKS AND EYES by KAREN SWENSON VERSES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM OF A LADY'S COMMON-PLACE BOOK by THOMAS MOORE THE POET'S SONG by ALFRED TENNYSON ONE WOMAN by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH WRITTEN ON A MARBLE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD ALPINE SPIRIT'S SONG by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |