Art

'YES, let Art go, if it must be That with it men must starve — If Music, Painting, Poetry Spring from the wasted hearth!' Yes, let Art go, till once again Through fearless heads and hands The toil of millions and the pain Be passed from out the lands: Till from the few their plunder falls To those who've toiled and earned But misery's hopeless intervals From those who've robbed and spurned. Yes, let Art go, without a fear, Like Autumn flowers we burn, For, with her reawakening year, Be sure she will return! — Return, but greater, nobler yet Because her laurel crown With dew and not with blood is wet, And as our Queen sit down!