Gray

Fold on fold the purple, crimson then— Gold? I shook my head and turned away. What? I turned and glared in that barbaric den. 'Gray!' Ashes, rats! You cannot, cannot mean it, surely? 'Yes,' I chirped, 'I'm weary; I have had a day; One thing only suits me, purely and demurely— Gray.' Doves and twilight seas, fog and thistle-down, Granite quarried too; pearl, with all array Of colors quenched within. But you said—a clown!— Gray! 'Yes, I understand; but you don't understand I'm the clown of heaven and mean to have my way. Cut me cloak and doublet. This is my command— Gray!'