Go, paint a picture of the sky At twilight when the grosbeaks fly To seek topmost perches overhead To requiem the day that's dead. Or, get in color green sea splendor On foggy moon when mist is vendor Of gauzy wreaths above the surges, Where nostal run the tidal dirges! Go, paint the living spark of dawn, When night, like coaches slowly drawn, Draws starry panes to rest a while, Until another day shall smile. ... Oh, wasters, ye, who think ye rule With skill taught in a modern school: What now remains of vital things In these colored sling-shot flings? You merely air much shoddy strife, When simple things are really life; You dazzle, where the King of Light Goes softly for the shades of might. You shriek where whisperings were deft, And still you have wild shoutings left! You kick and squirm in ardor made To hide the fact a spade's a spade. Oh, sons, what is there left to learn When knowledge sours in this churn Of being "mauve," and thought "bizarre," Instead of painting as things really are? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ETUDES DE PLUSIERS PAYSAGES DE L' AME: 1 by HAYDEN CARRUTH INTERRACIAL by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON HERO-WORSHIP; SONNET by AMY LOWELL THE FRUIT GARDEN PATH by AMY LOWELL SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: BARNEY HAINSFEATHER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |