It's all very pretty to hang us up here,
And pretend that you worship our genius and paint;
You fancy it's "Cultchah" that rings in the year—
But it ain't!
You find us, you say, "a delight to the eye;"
You exclaim that "such painting you never did see!"
You "do" us—then scamper below with the cry—
"Cup o' tea!"
"Old Masters," indeed! It's "Young Students" with you—
To their show in your thousands you flock in the spring;