2The meadow spies a shade of green.
As it before he has not seen,
He disregards its realist ties,
And he consoles his troubled queen.
His hills are racked with reds and blues
And myriads of arcane hues
That glitter with the rising sun
And cast their spell upon the dunes.
Then in the West, the setting sun
Takes pleasure in the night begun.
She makes a sigh of fond relief
At seeing all her beauty won.
And all the dale is dark as pitch.
As unseen wonders claim their niche,
The clouds above give way to moon,
And all the light is saintly rich.
For all the toils of the queen,
The only shade of unclaimed green
Is all that's lacking from their joy -
The only beauty still unseen.
Whilst all is perfect here and there,
The ancient bane of everywhere
Is not mistook for anything
Save that which beauty never dared.
The clouds roll out across the plane,
And hide the queen from beauty's bane.
For now, perfection falls complete,
And all is simple, quiet, sane.
8/26/04