WHEN in my walks I meet some ruddy lad -- Or swarthy man -- with tray-beladen head, Whose smile entreats me, or his visage sad, To buy the images he moulds for bread, I think that, -- though his poor Greek Slave in chains, His Venus and her Boy with plaster dart, Be, like the Organ-Grinder's quavering strains, But farthings in the currency of art, -- Such coins a kingly effigy still wear, Let metals base or precious in them mix: The painted vellum hallows not the Prayer, Nor ivory nor gold the Crucifix. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VICARIOUS ATONEMENT by RICHARD ALDINGTON ON TALK OF PEACE AT THIS TIME by ROBERT FROST WESTERN CIVILIZATION by JAMES GALVIN ALIENS (TO YOU - EVERYWHERE! DEDICATED) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON INEVITABLY (2) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ROMANCE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |