Classic Poem

Sunk in an after-dinner dream
beside the lake the Mammoth lay
& watch'd the clouds of whistling steam
that veil the dragon-death of day

Over the hills & far away
the Pterodactyl wing'd his whim
& deep into the dying day
his leathery nest-mate follow'd him

The woods upon each mountain's brow
turn'd purple: all the rocks aglow
it look'd the very same as now
that eve six thousand years ago

Man only, in his race's prime
struggling for life & happiness
with Man & Nature, had no time
to be particular in dress

Forth from the cave upon the height
they came all hair (their own & brutes)
you had not seen a patch of white
(linen or skin) nor hats nor boots

One bore they who was nigh to death
the earliest painter of our kind
who came to draw his latest breath
upon the mountain-slope reclined

& there low-lying his latest rede
he utter'd to his son & heir
" My son, whom I have striven to breed
as limner of the clear & fair

heed now the last words I shall say
before mine eyes forsake the light
This foremost: only paint the day
& never paint the night

avoid the dangerous witching hour
when things are blurr'd & over-ink'd
for then the spirit of Smudge has power
who cannot limn what is distinct

A picture, hear the truth thy Duty
consists of things, set side by side
the more they are, the more its beauty
Now at night no matter how you tried

you could not see a single detail
just one flat tint, or dark or pale
My son, remember, Art is retail
& dealeth not in the wholesale

For why? well, we paint things , I s'pose
Then paint them when the sun is keen
he were a dullard sure who chose
the hour when no thing can be seen

So hear the rede I give & prize it
Man may not ever paint the night
unless he first can civilize it
& light it with electric light

Seek out my son the strongest light
& paint your objects clear & hard
let not the vapours dim your sight
nor be by atmosphere debarr'd

from seeing all things as they are
If you would gain a sure renown
o shun the hour of moon & star
& mind & keep your shadows brown

'Tis single things & nothing more
that have a claim on your respect
for just as two & two are four
they are your general effect

so don't go flattening Nature out
suppressing detail at your will
he who would offer her this flout
his general effect is nil.

& further if you wish to fix
your mind on the things & paint them true
put not too much sky in your picture
the sky is but a waste of blue

likewise the sea, a wash: it mocks
the earnest eye a-search for things
so paint your sea all full of rocks
& fill your sky with whirling wings

ah for the day when sky nor wave is
no longer left an empty view
& one may paint the nations' navies
grappling in either useless blue! "

He ceas'd in inner vision sunk
as if to spell the future's page
then raising high his wasted trunk
he cried in aprophetic rage

" Son, this my Law shall guide the hand
of each true painter; fixt as fate:
yea, in the very farthest land
&amp to the very latest date

But one shall come, a soften'd brain
& hide his sitters from day's glare
in Amsterdam, & one in Spain
shall drown his canvases in air

& in our race's later day
the so-call'd nineteenth century
some from the light shall turn away
& hide themselves lest they should see

Yea, in that time of strange disquiet
a wretch shall even paint the night
in Ruskin's temple raise a riot
& whistle symphonies in white

paint, nor the night that's made for painting
brilliant with white electric lamps
but quarters where the moon is fainting
choked among yellow fog & damps

or else he'll smudge, this Yankee joker
his canvas over with black-lead
then spatter it with yellow ochre
Nocturne in Black & Gold! ... " For dead

they held him, so the dreadful thought
made him all speech- & motionless
But one last time his breath he caught
& maunder'd in a queer distress

" & one decreed to paint the light
& all things evident & true
shall let the devil blur his sight
& paint his shadows all in blue

but you my son hear what I say
& hand it to your children down
as Gospel-truth: paint but the day
& mind you keep your shadows brown! "

Thus was the law proclaim'd for ever
by him, first founder of a school
thus limited all art-endeavour
bound to an adamantine rule

His children flourish'd like the bay
uncircumcis'd, they linger on
& to the very Judgment Day
shall live — in Gath & Ascalon