Theatre Of Tragedy

Theatre Of Tragedy
Black As The Devil Painteth Remix

Though hath it then caringly caress'd the Canvas of to-morrow?,
O Canvas! for thee I hold my tool - still! passionless it quivereth,
Minding not that my hands are more than apt;
My Muse,

Where is hidden
The blue-hu�d arch'neath the High Heaven's rich emblazonry,
The flowery meadow, embrac'd by the horizon - snowflak�d and aery mountains,
In which the barebreast�d maidens dance to the lay o' midsummer,
Aloft the distant lazy flapping of the doves in vainglore.

O Canvas!, wherefore canst thou these images not allow? -
I deem a projection of my Theatre they should be! -
Then, I challenge thee the wisdom of naysaying the yearns o' mine -
What is this unforseen that not enjoineth light shades to be skillfully paint�d?

The raven sky prey'd on by the snowfill'd, blustery clouds,
Unadorn�d the meadow - hunger driveth the wolf out of the wood,
The maidens chain�d and whipp�d within a dreary dungeon -
And, lo! 'twixt the wizen roses a mossy grave:
"The Devil is as Black as he Painteth" -
O Canvas! wherefore

OptimusPrime

Submitted by OptimusPrime at Fri 15 Aug, 2003 3:55 pm

Author: ?
Composer: ?
Publisher: ?
Language: English

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