The Visionary

 If fortune had not granted me
 To suck the Muse's teats,
I think I would have liked to be
 A sweeper of the streets;
And city gutters glad to groom,
 Have heft a bonny broom.


There--as amid the crass and crush
 The limousines swished by,
I would have leaned upon my brush
 With visionary eye:
Deeming despite their loud allure
 That I was rich, they poor.


Aye, though in garb terrestrial,
 To Heaven I would pray,
And dream with broom celestial
 I swept the Milky Way;
And golden chariots would ring,
 And harps of Heaven sing.


And all the strumpets passing me,
 And heelers of the Ward
Would glorified Madonnas be,
 And angels of the Lord;
And all the brats in gutters grim
 Be rosy cherubim.

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