Fresco Sonnets - Part 8
How soon would poverty forsake me wholly,
Could I with faultless pencil be appealing
To all, and deck the walls from floor to ceiling,
Of hall or church, with pictures gay or holy!
How soon the gold would fall, like showers in thunder,
If on the flute, the fiddle, and piano,
I could so write for bass and for soprano,
That lords and ladies should clap hands in wonder!
But Mammon ne'er will smile upon poor me,
Alas, alas! one only art I cherish
And that's the starving art of Poesy—
And so, while other men, with goblets flowing,
Are god-like on champagne, why I must perish
Of thirst, or to the pump for drink be going.
Could I with faultless pencil be appealing
To all, and deck the walls from floor to ceiling,
Of hall or church, with pictures gay or holy!
How soon the gold would fall, like showers in thunder,
If on the flute, the fiddle, and piano,
I could so write for bass and for soprano,
That lords and ladies should clap hands in wonder!
But Mammon ne'er will smile upon poor me,
Alas, alas! one only art I cherish
And that's the starving art of Poesy—
And so, while other men, with goblets flowing,
Are god-like on champagne, why I must perish
Of thirst, or to the pump for drink be going.
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