Give to barrows, trays, and pans 
Grace and glimmer of romance; 
Bring the moonlight into noon 
Hid in gleaming piles of stone; 
On the city’s paved street 
Plant gardens lined with lilac sweet; 
Let spouting fountains cool the air, 
Singing in the sun–baked square; 
Let statue, picture, park, and hall, 
Ballad, flag, and festival, 
The past restore, the day adorn, 
And make each morrow a new morn. 
So shall the drudge in dusty frock 
Spy behind the city clock 
Retinues of airy kings, 
Skirts of angels, starry wings, 
His fathers shining in bright fables, 
His children fed at heavenly tables. 
’T is the privilege of Art 
Thus to play its cheerful part, 
Man in Earth to acclimate, 
And bend the exile to his fate, 
And, moulded of one element 
With the days and firmament, 
Teach him on these as stairs to climb, 
And live on even terms with Time; 
Whilst upper life the slender rill 
Of human sense doth overfill.