Louise Brooks

BRING me a pallet and a hand to paint

The tender tintings of this lovely May.

It must be quickly done: they will not stay,

But fleetly vanish, for they fear the taint

Of mortal rendering. Bring one acquaint

With music’s meanings, that the ready notes

Poured on the pulsing air from the full throats

Of little birds, who sing without restraint,

Be made a hymn to praise the God of Life.

The golden green, the grass, wet with soft rain,

Dimples with dandelions. See at strife

Bold Robin with his hidden prey. Again,

Bees in the flowery shrubs, with sweetness rife,

’Neath the blue sky, move in a busy train.