 | The collected works of Ambrose Bierce |  |
A BIT OF SCIENCE
What! photograph in colors? 'Tis a dreamAnd he who dreams it is not overwise,
If colors are vibration they but seem,
And have no being. But if Tyndall lies,
Why, come, then—photograph my lady's eyes.
Nay, friend, you can't; the splendor of their blue,
262
To naught but vibratory motion's due,
As heart, head, limbs and all I am attest.
How could her eyes, at rest themselves, be making
In me so uncontrollable a shaking?
1894.
| The collected works of Ambrose Bierce | |