Florence Kilpatrick Mixter

“I TIRE of looking at the sea,” he said.

“The composition’s bad; it needs a tree

Within the line of vision where the red

Of sunset pales before immensity.

There’s too much water and there’s too much sky

Without a frame to hold them in their place,

And not enough of shore to rest the eye

Or any little thing to shatter space.

If I were painting it”—he suddenly smiled—

“You’d come upon it almost unaware;

Down avenues of green your soul, beguiled,

Would yield the sea a glance and find it fair.

How swiftly then the spirit would go free!….

I tire,” he said, “of looking at the sea.”