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12 To M.O.M.A.* Stay, M.O.M.A. and your dream . . . You flash-light across The dark corners of my mind; We love beauty, both! I forget the hardness of your cash, Your noise and the crowds. I only remember your happy happy Cézannes, Your starkly green de Chiricos, Your regions of colours and secrets, Redon, Rousseau, Rouault . . . But, believe me, I shall never drown among your Water Lilies Saved by the Purists in the room next door. * M.O.M.A. sounds delightfully more like a fertility goddess than the abbreviated Museum of Modern Art (New York). As I approached the building one windy morning, multi-coloured banners flapped wildly each bearing M, O, M, A; and I heard the advance of MOMA, MOMA, MOMA, MOMA, accompanied with drums. ...

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