"EDITH is fair," the painter said, "Her cheek so richly glows, My palette ne'er could match the red Of that pure damask rose. "Perchance, the evening rain-drops light, Soft sprinkling from above, Have caught the sunset's colour bright, And borne it to my love. "In distant regions I must seek For tints before unknown, Ere I can paint the brilliant cheek That blooms for me alone." All this his little sister heard, Who frolicked by his side; To check such theories absurd, That gay young sprite replied: "Oh, I can tell you where to get That pretty crimson bloom, For in a bottle it is set In Cousin Edith's room. "I'm sure that I could find the place, If you want some to keep; I watched her put it on her face -- She didn't see me peep! "So nicely she laid on the pink, As well as you could do, And really, I almost think She is an artist, too." The maddened painter tore his hair, And vowed he ne'er would wed, And never since, to maiden fair, A tender word has said. Bright ruby cheeks, and skin of pearl, He knows a shower may spoil, And when he wants a blooming girl Paints one himself in oil. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAREWELL TO FARGO: SELLING THE HOUSE by KAREN SWENSON THE TROUBADOUR by HORTENSE DE BEAUHARNAIS THE GOLDEN ODES OF PRE-ISLAMIC ARABIA: ZOHEYR by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT EPISTLE TO A GENTLEMAN OF THE TEMPLE by JOHN BYROM PARANTHETICAL ADDRESS, BY DR. PLAGIARY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |