Fragment On Painters
Rupert Brooke
There is an evil which that Race attaints Who represent God’s World with oily paints, Who mock the Universe, so rare and sweet, With spots of colour on a canvas sheet, Defile the Lovely and insult the Good By scrawling upon little bits of wood. They’d snare the moon, and catch the immortal sun With madder brown and pale vermilion, Entrap an English evening’s magic hush . . .
Next 10 Poems
- Rupert Brooke : Funeral Of Youth, The: Threnody
- Rupert Brooke : Goddess In The Wood, The
- Rupert Brooke : Great Lover, The
- Rupert Brooke : Hauntings
- Rupert Brooke : He Wonders Whether To Praise Or Blame Her
- Rupert Brooke : He Wonders Whether To Praise Or To Blame Her
- Rupert Brooke : Heaven
- Rupert Brooke : Hill, The
- Rupert Brooke : Home
- Rupert Brooke : I Said I Splendidly Loved You; It's Not True
