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Classic and Contemporary Poetry


IN THE DARK ROOM by AMOS RUSSEL WELLS

First Line: IN THE ANGRY, FIERY GLOOM
Last Line: "THOSE THAT LOVE WHAT I HAVE MADE?"

In the angry, fiery gloom
Of my weirdly lighted room,
Where the bottles and the trays
Skulk in those sardonic rays,
And the vague apartment seems
Like a glimpse of nightmare dreams,
Here, in this uncanny cell,
Lo, a lovely miracle!
Square of glass, a milky white,
Vacant to my dullard sight;
Flow of liquid made to pass
Vacant on the vacant glass;
And a waiting reverent
While God takes His instrument;
Then, with hush of solemn awe,
See the mystic Artist draw!
See the plate, as vaguely dark
Slowly growing outlines mark --
Like a shadow from his mind --
What the Artist has designed.
See the pencil delicate
Moving on the expectant plate,
Here a stroke and there a touch,
None too little or too much;
Slow at first, then faster sent,
As the Artist grows intent;
Faster yet and still more fast,
Flashing marvels at the last,
Till upon the living glass
Shines the tree and bends the grass;
Till I see the waters cool
Plash in yonder pleasant pool;
Till upon the background rare
Grows the fairest of the fair,
Grows the picture's central grace, --
Dear Miranda's star-lit face!

Artist Lord of loveliness,
Need I tremble to confess
Here, before this inner shrine
Of Thy workmanship divine,
How that face which Thou hast made
Dims the pride of sun and shade,
How this glimpse of her I love
Draws my thoughts from Thee above?

Hark! a whisper in my ear:
"Lover, lover, do not fear.
I am Artist, none but I,
Of the joys beneath the sky.
Here my lower art you praise,
Seeing not the secret rays
That upon your willing heart
Stamped your lover's counterpart,
Nor the mystic bath that drew
This hid portrait into view,
Nor the hand whose workmanship
Pencilled brow and eye and lip.
Lover, lover, do not fear.
I am Lord of beauty's sphere.
Am I jealous to upbraid
Those that love what I have made?"



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