Though he knows not jot nor tittle Of Art's canons, works, or ways; Though his wage is passing little, And he wins but the street's praise; Though a clown his audience calls him, Yet 'tis plain beyond a doubt That another Power enthralls him Than the gaping rabble rout; For there's something in the folly Of his sorriest mimic part, Radiant, rhythmic, melancholy, Which is Art and only Art. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FROM THE AGES WITH A SMILE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN'S TRIP TO CAMBRIDGE; ELECTION BALLAD by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 7 by OMAR KHAYYAM MAN FRAIL AND GOD ETERNAL by ISAAC WATTS FOOTLIGHT MOTIFS: 3. GABY DESLYS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS MOUNTAIN FROLIC by GEORGE LAWRENCE ANDREWS |