A BALLADE OF ART COLLECTORS
Oh Lord! We are the covetous.
Our neighbours' goods afflict us sore.
From Frisco to the Bosphorus
All sightly stuff, the less the more,
We want it in our hoard and store.
Nor sacrilege doth us appal—
Egyptian vault—fane at Cawnpore—
Collector folk are sinners all.
Our envoys plot in partibus.
They've small regard for chancel door,
Or Buddhist bolts contiguous
To lustrous jade or gold galore
Adorning idol squat or tall—
These be strange gods that we adore—
Collector folk are sinners all.
Of Romulus Augustulus
The signet ring I proudly wore.
Some rummaging in ossibus
I most repentantly deplore.
My taste has changed; I now explore
The sepulchres of Senegal
And seek the pots of Singapore—
Collector folk are sinners all.
Lord! Crave my neighbour's wife! What for?
I much prefer his crystal ball
From far Cathay. Then, Lord, ignore
Collector folk who're sinners all.