GETTING his pictures, like his supper, cheap, <br />Far, far away in Belfast by the sea, <br />His watchful one—eyed uninvaded sleep <br />MacCracken sleepeth. While the P.R.B. <br />Must keep the shady side, he walks a swell <br />Through spungings of perennial growth and height: <br />And far away in Belfast out of sight, <br />By many an open do and secret sell, <br />Fresh daubers he makes shift to scarify, <br />And fleece with pliant shears the slumbering “green.” <br />There he has lied, though aged, and will lie, <br />Fattening on ill—got pictures in his sleep, <br />Till some Præraphael prove for him too deep. <br />Then, once by Hunt and Ruskin to be seen, <br />Insolvent he will turn, and in the Queen's Bench die.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/maccracken/
