543 and 544

A field stretched out before me, far beyond
the greatest distances my eyes could see.
And in each direction I looked upon
were wells & fountains, beckoning to me.
In varied hues the fountains sent aloft
their jets, and each well claimed that it was clean,
save one, which was nearby, whose sound was soft,
whose color was as clean as a spiring stream.
I tasted, first, the beckoning of all
the others, ere I traced back where I'd been;
where finally at that soft fount I'd fall,
to trust its calm report, and drink again.
But no draught satisfied as advertised
save that one that I'd never really prized.

~~~

Upon my wall there is a blank portrait

that always shall stay bare. For it is there

to show me what I no longer have yet,

and what I may, with my own future, share.

It shows each splendid sight I ever knew,

and those I never knew, it can conceive.

It can show all those splendors to you, too,

tho rendered to your own tastes, you’ll receive.

If e’er a mask of paint should mar its face—

the infinite that paints the watcher’s eye—

I’d nevermore be patron to the grace

that captures me each time I wander by.

So let not one role only take the art

away from minds that can paint every part.