Amy Lowell (Эми Лоуэлл)

The Painter on Silk

There was a man
Who made his living
By painting roses
Upon silk.
He sat in an upper chamber
And painted,
And the noises of the street
Meant nothing to him.
When he heard bugles, and fifes, and drums,
He thought of red, and yellow, and white roses
Bursting in the sunshine,
And smiled as he worked.
He thought only of roses,
And silk.
When he could get no more silk
He stopped painting
And only thought
Of roses.
The day the conquerors
Entered the city,
The old man
Lay dying.
He heard the bugles and drums,
And wished he could paint the roses
Bursting into sound.

1. To-morrow to Fresh Woods and Pastures New
2. Epitaph of a Young Poet Who Died Before Having Achieved Success
3. The Green Bowl
4. The Pike
5. Vintage

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