Colors
(For D. M. C.)
The little man with the vague beard and guise
Pulled at the wicket. “Come inside!” he said,
“I’ll show you all we’ve got now — it was size
You wanted? — oh, dry colors! Well” — he led
To a dim alley lined with musty bins,
And pulled one fiercely. Violent and bold
A sudden tempest of mad, shrieking sins
Scarlet screamed out above the battered gold
Of tins and picture-frames. I held my breath.
He tugged another hard — and sapphire skies
Spread in vast quietude, serene as death,
O’er waves like crackled turquoise — and my eyes
Burnt with the blinding brilliance of calm sea!
“We’re selling that lot there out cheap!” said he.