When I explore the plunder of the Louvre,

I wonder what the artisans would say

If they could see the treasures of their oeuvre

Displaced for pleasure, carved out for display.

Of course, the Louvre is not the only site

Where others’ glories are put out to view

But frequency does not convey a right

Nor does the point that this is hardly new.

I also wonder at my joy to see

The output of a grave, or stones cut down

From buildings that still stand, but emptily,

Despite the knowledge that I ought to frown.

I did not take these things, but am complicit;

Were each returned, I know that I would miss it.