Velasquez took a pliant knife And scraped his palette clean; He said, "I lead a dog's own life Painting a king and queen." He cleaned his palette with oily rags And oakum from Seville wharves; "I am sick of painting painted hags And bad ambiguous dwarfs. The sky is silver, the clouds are pearl, Their locks are looped with rain. I will not paint Maria's girl For all the money in Spain." He washed his face in water cold, His hands in turpentine; He squeezed out colour like coins of gold And colour like drops of wine. Each colour lay like a little pool On the polished cedar wood; Clear and pale and ivory-cool Or dark as solitude. He burnt the rags in the fireplace And leaned from the window high; He said, "I like that gentleman's face Who wears his cap awry." This is the gentleman, there he stands, Castilian, sombre-caped, With arrogant eyes, and narrow hands Miraculously shaped. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALBERT SIDNEY JOHNSTON [APRIL 6, 1862] by KATE BROWNLEE SHERWOOD THE VINE by MUHAMMAD AL-MU'TAMID II HYMN 5. THE BLINDING OF TIRESIAS by CALLIMACHUS SONGS IN ABSENCE: 11 by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH OLD WOMEN TREES by DOROTHY MARIE DAVIS N.F. by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE INTERLUDES; TO DIDEROT: 3 by FABIO DOPLICHER LINES IN A LETTER TO HIS LADY COUSIN, HONOR DRIDEN by JOHN DRYDEN |