background image
Oh you that are the saint
Who shows us best of all,
From your day down to this,
Man free of cowardice,
Living as you had to,
While you could live at all,
That lone life, terrible
In all but the main part,
To paint as you could paint,
`meditate and paint,'
Making red and green display
Man's heart at its ugliest
In a poor night cafe;
Paint for the brain's rest
Or blazing substantial bliss
(And write those thought-tough, true,
Warm, and full-spirited
Letters to your good brother)
To you as to no other
I've turned, to clear my head,
And bring home, to what's mine
Of a more spare design,
My miscellaneous heart,
Now that I'm back from where,
Brainy relentless place,
Off ers of everything
Multiply their embrace,
Show how to hold the string
Quartet and cyclotron
Together, and apart --
And, infi nitely supple
In everything that's done
All the old ways to couple
Intelligence and pleasure --