After the tempest in the sky <br />How sweet yon rainbow to the eye! <br />Come, my Matilda, now while some <br />Few drops of rain are yet to come, <br />In this honeysuckle bower <br />Safely sheltered from the shower, <br />We may count the colours o'er.- <br />Seven there are, there are no more; <br />Each in each so finely blended, <br />Where they begin, or where are ended, <br />The finest eye can scarcely see. <br />A fixed thing it seems to be; <br />But, while we speak, see how it glides <br />Away, and now observe it hides <br />Half of its perfect arch-now we <br />Scarce any part of it can see. <br />What is colour? If I were <br />A natural philosopher, <br />I would tell you what does make <br />This meteor every colour take: <br />But an unlearned eye may view <br />Nature's rare sights, and love them too. <br />Whenever I a rainbow see, <br />Each precious tint is dear to me; <br />For every colour find I there, <br />Which flowers, which fields, which ladies wear: <br />My favourite green, the grass's hue, <br />And the fine deep violet-blue, <br />And the pretty pale blue-bell, <br />And the rose I love so well, <br />All the wondrous variations <br />Of the tulips, pinks, carnations, <br />This woodbine here both flower and leaf. <br />'Tis a truth that's past belief, <br />That every flower and every tree, <br />And every living thing we see, <br />Every face which we espy, <br />Every cheek and every eye, <br />In all their tints, in every shade, <br />Are from the rainbow's colours made.<br /><br />Charles Lamb<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-rainbow-21/
