HOLD high the woof, dear friends, that we may see The cunning mixture of its colors rare. Nothing in nature purposely is fair, -- Her mingled beauties never quite agree; But here all vivid dyes that garish be, To that tint mellowed which the sense will bear, Glow, and not wound the eye that, resting there, Lingers to feed its gentle ecstasy. Crimson and purple and all hues of wine, Saffron and russet, brown and sober green Are rich the shadowy depths of blue between; While silver threads with golden intertwine, To catch the glimmer of a fickle sheen, -- All the long labor of some captive queen. |