(For D. M. C.) <br /> <br />The little man with the vague beard and guise <br />Pulled at the wicket. "Come inside!" he said, <br />"I'll show you all we've got now -- it was size <br />You wanted? -- oh, dry colors! Well" -- he led <br />To a dim alley lined with musty bins, <br />And pulled one fiercely. Violent and bold <br />A sudden tempest of mad, shrieking sins <br />Scarlet screamed out above the battered gold <br />Of tins and picture-frames. I held my breath. <br />He tugged another hard -- and sapphire skies <br />Spread in vast quietude, serene as death, <br />O'er waves like crackled turquoise -- and my eyes <br />Burnt with the blinding brilliance of calm sea! <br />"We're selling that lot there out cheap!" said he.<br /><br />Stephen Vincent Benet<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/colors/
