Poetry Archives

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.