William Rose Benét

From “Green and Gray”

FOLD on fold the purple, crimson then—

Gold? I shook my head and turned away.

What? I turned and glared in that barbaric den.

“Gray!”

Ashes, rats! You cannot, cannot mean it, surely?

“Yes,” I chirped, “I’m weary; I have had a day;

One thing only suits me, purely and demurely—

Gray.”

Doves and twilight seas, fog and thistle-down,

Granite quarried too; pearl, with all array

Of colors quenched within. But you said—a clown!—

Gray!

“Yes, I understand; but you don’t understand

I’m the clown of heaven and mean to have my way.

Cut me cloak and doublet. This is my command—

Gray!”