Hold high the woof, dear friends, that we may see <br />The cunning mixture of its colours rare. <br />Nothing in nature purposely is fair,— <br />Her beauties in their freedom disagree; <br />But here all vivid dyes that garish be, <br />To that tint mellowed which the sense will bear, <br />Glow, and not wound the eye that, resting there, <br />Lingers to feed its gentle ecstacy. <br />Crimson and purple and all hues of wine, <br />Saffron and russet, brown and sober green <br />Are rich the shadowy depths of blue between; <br />While silver threads with golden intertwine, <br />To catch the glimmer of a fickle sheen,— <br />All the long labour of some captive queen.<br /><br />George Santayana<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-a-piece-of-tapestry/
