THE V-A-S-E
From the madding crowd they stand apart,
The maidens four and the Work of Art;
And none might tell from sight alone
In which had Culture ripest grown,—
The Gotham Million fair to see,
The Philadelphia Pedigree,
The Boston Mind of azure hue,
Or the soulful Soul from Kalamazoo,—
For all loved Art in a seemly way,
With an earnest soul and a capital A.
......
Long they worshipped; but no one broke
The sacred stillness, until up spoke
The Western one from the nameless place,
Who blushing said: "What a lovely vace!"
Over three faces a sad smile flew,
And they edged away from Kalamazoo.