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Poem by Arthur Conan Doyle

The Artist

His body was conveyed to his studio 
where it lay surrounded by his pictures,
most of which represented fairy subjects.

The little elves upon the walls
	Cried, What is this before us?
Why should the Master lie so still,
	And why should he ignore us?
Oh what is this, and why is this?
	They whispered in a chorus.

And one behind a heather ball,
	A gentle nymph and slender
Said, What if we have made him cross,
	And I be the offender!
Nay, nay they cried he will not chide
	The Masters heart is tender.

Arthur Conan Doyle

Arthur Conan Doyle's other poems:
  1. Songs of the Road (1911). 8. The Outcasts
  2. Songs of the Road (1911). 17. Man's Limitation
  3. Songs of the Road (1911). 4. A Post-Impressionist
  4. Songs of the Road (1911). 27. Sexagenarius Loquitur
  5. The Guards Came Through (1919). 2. Victrix

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Robert Service The Artist ("All day with brow of anxious thought")
  • Madison Cawein The Artist ("In story books, when I was very young")
  • Walter Raleigh The Artist ("The Artist and his Luckless Wife")

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