Meantime, I'll draw you as you stand, With few or none to watch and wonder: I'll say -- a fisher, on the sand By Tyre the old, with ocean-plunder, A netful, brought to land.
Who has not heard how Tyrian shells Enclosed the blue, that dye of dyes Whereof one drop worked miracles, And colored like Astarte's eyes Raw silk the merchant sells?
And each by-stander of them all Could criticise, and quote tradition How depths of blue sublimed some pall -- To get which, pricked a king's ambition; Worth sceptre, crown, and ball.
Yet there's the dye, in that rough mesh, The sea has only just o'er-whispered! Live whelks, each lip's beard dripping fresh, As if they still the water's lisp heard Through foam the rock-weeds thresh.
Enough to furnish Solomon Such hangings for his cedar-house, That, when gold-robed he took the throne In that abyss of blue, the Spouse Might swear his presence shone
Most like the centre-spike of gold Which burns deep in the blue-bell's womb What time, with ardors manifold, The bee goes singing to her groom, Drunken and overbold.
Mere conchs! not fit for warp or woof! Till cunning come to pound and squeeze And clarify, -- refine to proof *2* The liquor filtered by degrees, While the world stands aloof.
And there's the extract, flasked and fine, And priced and salable at last! And Hobbs, Nobbs, Stokes, and Nokes combine To paint the future from the past, Put blue into their line. *3
*Original article by {website name}. If reprinted, please indicate the source: http://dmnlo.wxxcjsyl.com/html/83c099028.html
