Shop

So, friend, your shop was all your house!     Its front, astonishing the street,     Invited view from man and mouse     To what diversity of treat     Behind its glass, the single sheet!     What gimcracks, genuine Japanese:     Gape-jaw and goggle-eye, the frog;     Dragons, owls, monkeys, beetles, geese;     Some crush-nosed human-hearted dog:     Queer names, too, such a catalogue!     I thought And he who owns the wealth     Which blocks the windows vastitude,     Ah, could I peep at him by stealth     Behind his ware, pass shop, intrude     On house itself, what scenes were viewed!     If wide and showy thus the shop,     What must the habitation prove?     The true house with no name a-top,     The mansion, distant one remove,     Once get him off his traffic-groove!     Pictures he likes, or books perhaps;     And as for buying most and best,     Commend me to these city chaps!     Or else hes social, takes his rest     On Sundays, with a Lord for guest.     Some suburb-palace, parked about     And gated grandly, built last year:     The four-mile walk to keep off gout;     Or big seat sold by bankrupt peer:     But then he takes the rail, thats clear.     Or, stop! I wager, taste selects     Some out-o-the-way, some all-unknown     Retreat: the neighborhood suspects     Little that he who rambles lone     Makes Rothschild tremble on his throne!     Nowise! Nor Mayfair residence     Fit to receive and entertain,     Nor Hampstead villas kind defence     From noise and crowd, from dust and drain,     Nor country-box was souls domain!     Nowise! At back of all that spread     Of merchandise, woes me, I find     A hole i the wall where, heels by head,     The owner couched, his ware behind,     In cupboard suited to his mind.     For why? He saw no use of life     But, while he drove a roaring trade,     To chuckle Customers are rife!     To chafe So much hard cash outlaid,     Yet zero in my profits made!     This novelty costs pains, but, takes?     Cumbers my counter! Stock no more!     This article, no such great shakes,     Fizzes like wildfire? Underscore     The cheap thing, thousands to the fore!     Twas lodging best to live most nigh     (Cramp, coffinlike as crib might be)     Receipt of Custom; ear and eye     Wanted no outworld: Hear and see     The bustle in the shop! quoth he.     My fancy of a merchant-prince     Was different. Through his wares we groped     Our darkling way to, not to mince     The matter, no black den where moped     The master if we interloped!     Shop was shop only: household-stuff?     What did he want with comforts there?     Walls, ceiling, floor, stay blank and rough,     So goods on sale show rich and rare!     Sell and scud home, be shops affair!     What might he deal in? Gems, suppose!     Since somehow business must be done     At cost of trouble, see, he throws     You choice of jewels, every one,     Good, better, best, star, moon, and sun!     Which lies within your power of purse?     This ruby that would tip aright     Solomons sceptre? Oh, your nurse     Wants simply coral, the delight     Of teething baby, stuff to bite!     Howeer your choice fell, straight you took     Your purchase, prompt your money rang     On counter, scarce the man forsook     His study of the Times, just swang     Till-ward his hand that stopped the clang,     Then off made buyer with a prize,     Then seller to his Times returned;     And so did day wear, wear, till eyes     Brightened apace, for rest was earned:     He locked door long ere candle burned.     And whither went he? Ask himself,     Not me! To change of scene, I think.     Once sold the ware and pursed the pelf,     Chaffer was scarce his meat and drink,     Nor all his music, money-chink.     Because a man has shop to mind     In time and place, since flesh must live,     Needs spirit lack all life behind,     All stray thoughts, fancies fugitive,     All loves except what trade can give?     I want to know a butcher paints,     A baker rhymes for his pursuit,     Candlestick-maker much acquaints     His soul with song, or, haply mute,     Blows out his brains upon the flute!     But, shop each day and all day long!     Friend, your good angel slept, your star     Suffered eclipse, fate did you wrong!     From where these sorts of treasures are,     There should our hearts be, Christ, how far!