In the days long gone, alas!
Two upon a cloud, low-seated,
Saw their pinions in the glass
Of a silver lake repeated.
One was blue and one was red,
And the lovely pair were wed.
"Purple wings are very fine,"
Spoke the voice of Ruby, gently:
"Ay" said Sapphire, "they're divine!"--
Looking at his blue intently.
"But we're blest," said Ruby, then,
"And we'll not complain like men."
Sapphire stretched his loving arms,
And she nestled on his bosom,
While his heart inhaled her charms
As the sense inhales a blossom;--
Drank her wholly, tint and tone,
Blent her being with his own.
Rapture passed, they raised their eyes,
But were startled into clamor
Of a marvellous surprise!
Was it color! was it glamour!
Purple-tinted, sweet and warm,
Was each wing and folded form!
Who had wrought it--how it came--
These were what the twain disputed.
How were mingled smoke and flame
Into royal hue transmuted?
Each was right, the other wrong:
But their quarrel was not long,
For the moment that their speech
Differed o'er their little story,
Swiftly faded off from each
Every trace of purple glory,
Blue was bluer than before,
And the red was red once more.
Then they knew that both were wrong,
And in sympathy of sorrow
Learned that each was only strong
In the power to lend and borrow,--
That the purple never grew
But by grace of red to blue.
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