Here, these colours in secret dost thou touch;
Here, in reddest violet I thou pursue;
Yet only black as night, and yet as blue
That thou, my bright, my shadow, painted much.
And here, the spectroscopic span is such;
And here, chromatics some might misconstrue;
Unknown, such hues have painted far too few;
As whitest white is not so grey a crutch
To magnify protection’s light of worth.
And worthy light, prismatic as the sun,
Shall stream as bright toward golden compass points;
And venerable shades shall then unearth,
When newer hues are finally outdone,
Our touch as art–as colours–us, anoints.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Holy Robert Browning with a spectroscope, Batman!
Dat’s a lot off colours, Daffyd.
I have discovered that one may stuff some number of metaphors into a Ronco (r) blend-o-matic to create something delicious, nutritious and smooth….
Very smooth, you devil.
I am reasonably sure I am done with all lucasing on this one. On the other hand, I have always had in mind three prequels to it. (just kidding)
NO JAR JAR!!!
…but meesa bin liken the sonnets all over in the places.