When painters leave this world, we grieve
For the hand that will work no more,
But who can say that they rest alway
On that still celestial shore?
No! No! they choose from the rainbow hues,
And winging from Paradise,
They come to paint, now bold now faint,
The tones of our sunset skies.
When I see them there I can almost swear
That grey is from Whistler's brain!
That crimson flush was Turner's brush!
And the gold is Claude Lorraine.
Leave a guest comment (subject to review)
Comments
-
That is so beautiful, the thought that the painters are busy painting in the heavens what the painters on earth then copy on their Canvas, though I don't think any painter could paint the originals which are painted by a hand Divine, but it is still soemthing to reflect upon.
-
LOL@Pixic he can't keep it up, hes dead. But he did write some excellent stuff while he was alive. Looks like he spent his time wisely
-
Good
hey this one is not bad... is has some really great imagry... and the flow works... Good write keep it up
Adding your comment:
