The poem
If fortune had not granted me To suck the Muse's teats, I think I would have liked to be A sweeper of the streets; And city gutters glad to groom, Have heft a bonny broom.
There--as amid the crass and crush The limousines swished by, I would have leaned upon my brush With visionary eye: Deeming despite their loud allure That I was rich, they poor.
Aye, though in garb terrestrial, To Heaven I would pray, And dream with broom celestial I swept the Milky Way; And golden chariots would ring, And harps of Heaven sing.
And all the strumpets passing me, And heelers of the Ward Would glorified Madonnas be, And angels of the Lord; And all the brats in gutters grim Be rosy cherubim.