Classic Poem

1.

" The Home of Taste, " say souls of dust,
" Is not for men who toil:
For bread alone they till, and must,
Life's hopeless soil. "

2.

But here comes he whom no one knows,
The thrall of tasteless power;
Why plucks he, as he homeward goes,
The hawthorn flower?

3.

Red Rose, that lov'st the cottage door,
If hope within there be!
Why stops a wretch, so tir'd and poor,
To look on thee?

4.

Oh, yet the greatest and the least
A Home of Taste will find!
And Knowledge spread her beauteous feast
For all mankind!

5.

The only high and heart-bas'd throne
Is unclass'd virtue's prize;
For who are great? The good alone,
They only wise.

6.

And what, sweet rose, sweet hawthorn flower,
To hind, or artisan,
Are Taste's pure charm, and Beauty's power,
But God in Man?