TURNER TURNER.
Turner , Turner burning bright
In the long galleries of night
What immortal hand or eye
An impressionism of solid delight.
Pompous full of divine right
Embodying huge egos by sight
Catching the history with its rugged throat
And empowering nations with easy sloth.
What glorification of ordinariness
Yards and yards of divine nothingness
What colours ! What strokes !
What numbness of mind what gentle hoax.
Rightly enlarging the hold of history
Which excels in excellence of mediocrity
Even the gaudy showers of some cosmic lottery
Could not obscure thy fearful symmetry.
