 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
BLACK IN BLUE SKY.
An artist one day at his easel stood,
And sketched, with a pencil free,
The gold of the meadow, the green of the wood,
And the purple and gray of the sea;
A child stood watching, a little way back,
And questioned the artist, “Why
Do you mix with your color a touch of black,
When you paint the blue of the sky?”
And sketched, with a pencil free,
The gold of the meadow, the green of the wood,
And the purple and gray of the sea;
A child stood watching, a little way back,
And questioned the artist, “Why
Do you mix with your color a touch of black,
When you paint the blue of the sky?”
“Because there is black in the blue, my child;
I am painting the sky as it is!”
And he softly said, while he sadly smiled,
“It is one of earth's mysteries:
Not the lily itself wears a perfect white,
Nor the red rose an unmixed dye:
There is light in shadow, and shadow in light,
And black in the blue of the sky.”
I am painting the sky as it is!”
And he softly said, while he sadly smiled,
“It is one of earth's mysteries:
Not the lily itself wears a perfect white,
Nor the red rose an unmixed dye:
There is light in shadow, and shadow in light,
And black in the blue of the sky.”
There are films over nature everywhere
To soothe and refresh our sight;
For mortal eyes were not made to bear
The dazzle of undimmed light.
Our consolation and our complaint;
Awaking both smile and sigh:
There are human faults in the holiest saint,
Like the black in the blue of the sky.
To soothe and refresh our sight;
For mortal eyes were not made to bear
The dazzle of undimmed light.
Our consolation and our complaint;
Awaking both smile and sigh:
There are human faults in the holiest saint,
Like the black in the blue of the sky.
What then? Shall we say that the skies are not blue,
Lilies white, nor the roses red?
Shall we doubt whether ever the crystal dew
Drops pearls on the paths we tread?
We may dwell where there is no blur in the air,
Over beauty no veil, by and by:
But good is good always and everywhere,
Though black may steal into blue sky.
Lilies white, nor the roses red?
Shall we doubt whether ever the crystal dew
Drops pearls on the paths we tread?
We may dwell where there is no blur in the air,
Over beauty no veil, by and by:
But good is good always and everywhere,
Though black may steal into blue sky.
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |