A short poem.
They say of art, in snobbish tone,
pure nonsense one cannot condone:
Some say, “No more than nudity
revealed unto society”;
some say, “The eye holds all beauty,
and art itself has no duty.”
But yet I say, and I admit
some truth remains in clouded wit,
that art must speak, and speak truly.
The artist’s brain is ruled by thee:
Passion, who runs inside his soul,
and her, who often is his goal,
he seeks to woo with all your gifts.
So all the world he benefits.