Poem by Robert William Service

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.

1. Prelude (In youth I gnawed life's bitter rind)
2. Freethinker
3. Prelude (To smite Apollo's lyre I am unable)
4. The Search (Happiness, a-roving round)
5. Old Codger

Emily Brontë The Visionary ("Silent is the house: all are laid asleep")

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