Page:Songs of the Road Doyle.djvu/33

Rh What's this? What's this? Magnificent!

I've wronged you, Wilson! I repent!

A masterpiece! A perfect thing!

What atmosphere! What colouring!

Spanish Armada, is it not?

A view of Ryde, no matter what,

I pledge my critical renown

That this will be the talk of Town.

Where did you get those daring hues,

Those blues on reds, those reds on blues?

That pea-green face, that gamboge sky?

You've far outcried the latest cry—

Out Monet-ed Monet. I have said

Our Art was sleeping, but not dead.

Long have we waited for the Star,

I watched the skies for it afar,

The hour has come—and here you are.'