Page:Pacchiarotto and how he worked in distemper; with other poems - Browning (1876).djvu/230

In presence of—what yonder frame
 Pretends to image? Surely, odd
It seems, you let confront The Name
 Each beast the heathen called his god!'

52.
"' Benignant smiles me pity straight
 The Cardinal. ''Tis Truth, we prize!
Art's the sole question in debate!
 These subjects are so many lies.
We treat them with a proper scorn
 When we turn lies—called gods forsooth—
To lies' fit use, now Christ is born.
 Drawing and colouring are Truth.