Celestial Painting (Sunset At Renvyle)
W
William Percy French
0
Altın Yaprak
When painters leave this world, we grieve
For the hand that will work no more,
But who can say that they rest alway
On that still celestial shore?
No! No! they choose from the rainbow hues,
And winging from Paradise,
They come to paint, now bold now faint,
The tones of our sunset skies.
When I see them there I can almost swear
That grey is from Whistler's brain!
That crimson flush was Turner's brush!
And the gold is Claude Lorraine.
Kamu malı: şairin ölümünün üzerinden 70 yıldan fazla geçti.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş