After rows of cuneiforms pressed 
in salmon-colored clay, after exhibits 
of gold-foiled glass on glass shelves,
aisles of marble heads, abducted thinkers, 
and foreign patriots, cases 
of painted fans and samplers 
ancient girls made, after the displays of swords 
and hammered armor pilfered from lands 
philologists could not name,
we saw a group of children pass
under the Caryatids, then gather
in Gallery Three.  All in red vests
and white collars, some stood, attentively,
others sat cross-legged on the carpet
faded with floral designs, a few on settees,
listening to their teacher explain how
the creators had affection for their art,
otherwise how could their art be?
 
The sunlight through the clerestory above,
suffused the plaster frieze, a cast 
of the Elgin marbles, and onto scrolled frames,
poppyhead finials, and entered 
the pores of statuary, the faces
of ancients, the flying creatures
of myth they made, and the red-vested
children, respectful, clean, as if the sun
was slowly purifying everything.
 
The teacher went on to explain
how the artists lived in a different world
when they worked, a sacred place
and how the lives of the children too
could be the same, whatever their direction,
whatever they made, how the things
that surrounded them that day
were forms of affection, and the masters
themselves, objects of imagination.