Poem by Rupert Chawner Brooke

Fragment on Painters

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...

1. Lines Written in the Belief That the Ancient Roman Festival of the Dead Was Called Ambarvalia
2. The Funeral of Youth: Threnody
3. On the Death of Smet-Smet, the Hippopotamus-Goddess
4. Song (All suddenly the wind comes soft)
5. The Jolly Company

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