From the madding crowd they stand apart, <br />The maidens four and the Work of Art; <br /> <br />And none might tell from sight alone <br />In which had Culture ripest grown, - <br /> <br />The Gotham Million fair to see, <br />The Philadelphia Pedigree, <br /> <br />The Boston Mind of azure hue, <br />Or the soulful Soul from Kalamazoo, - <br /> <br />For all loved Art in a seemly way, <br />With an earnest soul and a capital A. <br /> <br />. . . . . . <br /> <br />Long they worshipped; but no one broke <br />The sacred stillness, until up spoke <br /> <br />The Western one from the nameless place, <br />Who blushing said: 'What a lovely vace!' <br /> <br />Over three faces a sad smile flew, <br />And they edged away from Kalamazoo. <br /> <br />But Gotham's haughty soul was stirred <br />To crush the stranger with one small word. <br /> <br />Deftly hiding reproof in praise, <br />She cries: ''Tis, indeed, a lovely vaze!' <br /> <br />But brief her unworthy triumph when <br />The lofty one from the home of Penn, <br /> <br />With the consciousness of two grandpapas, <br />Exclaims: 'It is quite a lovely vahs!' <br /> <br />And glances round with an anxious thrill, <br />Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill. <br /> <br />But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee, <br />And gently murmurs: 'Oh pardon me! <br /> <br />'I did not catch your remark, because <br />I was so entranced with that charming vaws!' <br /> <br />Dies erit praegelida <br />Sinistra quum Bostonia.<br /><br />James Jeffrey Roche<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-v-a-s-e/
