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Title: Sorolla
Author: Olive Tilford Dargan [
More Titles by Dargan]
"I am fleet," said the joy of the sun,
Trembling then on the breast
Of the summer, white, still;
"I am fleet, I am gone!"
Smiling came one
With brush and a will,
Undelaying, unpressed,
And the glancing gold of the tremulous sun
Lingers for man, inescapable, won.
"Not here, nor yet there,"
Cried the waves that fled,
"Shall ye set us a snare.
Motion is breath of us,
Stillness is death of us;
We live as we run,
We pause and are sped!"
Laughing came one
With brush and a will,
And the waves never die and are nevermore still.
"I pass," said the light
On the joy-child's face;
But softly came one
And it leaves not its place.
Here Time shall replight
His faith with the dawn,
And his ages, gaunt grey,
Ever cycling, behold
Their youth never flown
In a world never old,
Though they pass and repass with their trailing decay.
"We stay," said the shadows, and hung
On the brush of the master; "we are thine own."
Fearless he flung
The magical chains around them, and said,
"Ye too shall be light, and to life bring the sun!"
And man delayed
By the captive pain's revealing glow
Feeleth earth's breathing woe,
And his vow is made;
"Ye shall pass, ye shadows, yea;
And life, as the sun, be free;
The God in me saith!"
And the shadows go;
For joy is the breath
Of eternity,
And sorrow the sigh of a day.
[The end]
Olive Tilford Dargan's poem: Sorolla
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