It seeks, at first, to dislocate the senses,
  Unshackling weary horses from their cart,
Enticing them past ridge and furrow fences
  Down to a bridge of perils men call Art.

While ostlers rave and rant concerning duty,
  And some turn back— and many never start,
A few refuse their hay to feed on beauty
  Across the bridge of perils men call Art.