 | The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland |  |
191
To John Bunyan
John, it was sweet of thee to be a tinker,
For poor men need a trade;
And of all trades that picture well with art, John—
Intuitive, innocent art, John—
It is the tinker's.
For poor men need a trade;
And of all trades that picture well with art, John—
Intuitive, innocent art, John—
It is the tinker's.
And it was sweet of thee to go to gaol, John,
Even unto Bedford Gaol:
Why may not all of us forthwith repair, John,
To some such sunless fastness,
And dream large dreams, John?
Even unto Bedford Gaol:
Why may not all of us forthwith repair, John,
To some such sunless fastness,
And dream large dreams, John?
And sweet it was of thee to make and write, John,
A sweet and decent book
Which hath an honest savour, like good bread, John,
And keeps the general palate; though their fictions
Do come, and go, John.
A sweet and decent book
Which hath an honest savour, like good bread, John,
And keeps the general palate; though their fictions
Do come, and go, John.
192
Ah! who would not, to author such another,
Take thy extremity,
Thy petty craft; thy “gross, implacable” doctrine;
Yea, even a threadbare “treatise-dowered” spouse, John,
And thank his stars, John?
Take thy extremity,
Thy petty craft; thy “gross, implacable” doctrine;
Yea, even a threadbare “treatise-dowered” spouse, John,
And thank his stars, John?
| The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland | |