On a Grey Thread/The Artist
The Artist
Let us leave off loving, Madonna:You have kissed me greyAnd still I have no peace.We thought we could make the nightA tapestry of passion.Dear Love! What a vain caprice.
Where's the immortal designWe thought we had splashed on the indigo cloth?And where is the cloth?Dawn is forever the cynic.He shows us love is the flame,Our flesh the eternal moth.
Madonna . . . loose me and rise.We are brief as apple-blossomAnd I am heart-weary with thought of the end.Creation is all.The hours are thieves, Time a beggar,And we have little to spend.
I ache for the brush in my hand.The thrall of the compliant pigmentGoverns my blood.I will paint you, Madonna,The afterlove glow in your face;
I would deify you if I couldWith enchantments of color,Bind you with fetters of terrible beautyFast to my canvas forever,Give you the eternality God has denied you,Bind you to life with art's sacred chainsThat death cannot sever.
Love has betrayed us enough with its treacherous wonder:Let us go now while we ache with the magicOr what is the gain?Art is our one immortality,All we may win from the godsIn exchange for our labor and pain.