Hudlbras:

Tell me, Ralpho, where do you go

With determined face and step so slow,

With that lengthy ladder and bucket of paint?

Why truly you look like a martyred Saint.

Ralpho:

Sir Hudibras, disturb me not

For my mission is to erase the rot

That clings to the walls of our library.

Those murals by Sargent are quite contrary

To all the principles of noble art

And are nothing but the counterpart

Of propaganda, bill-board posters,

Advertising snappy roadsters.

Hudlbras:

Come, Ralpho, you forget the line,

The composition and the fine

Manipulation of the hues

Which are low-toned and don't confuse

The seer with a bewildering blaze

Of spots to leave him in a daze.

Chauvannes, the early decorator

Would explain the alpha and the beta

Of these two murals; he would say

The dull and solid tones convey

Intellectual dignity

And the murals, far from illustrations

Are contemplative decorations.

Ralpho:

But Hudibras, you miss my point.

Why in the name of art anoint

The wounds of war with salty paint

At present there is just complaint

About the ravages of war

So why beyond the very door

Of Widener must we meet each day

Two smug reminders of the fray?

Oh why must we commemorate

In noble terms, that which we hate?

Hudlbras:

But Ralpho, those murals are decorations,

Not objects of studied concentration.

You've stated your case but I'm unconvinced

And at some of your criticisms I've winced,

For you judge too much with animalia

And forget that you have some rationalia.

What you must do is discard your paint

And in the near future try to acquaint

Your inquisitive mind with Widener's geography,

Commit to memory its topography

So that when next you enter the door,

You can walk, eyes-shut, past the "horrors" of war.

But if this plan doesn't meet with approval,

Give everyone notice of their removal;

And like the assistant profs' sweet salving ointment,

Give them a one-year concluding appointment.