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The Tranquil Life
Ne fais jamais de peinture si tu veux vivre tranquille.
Corot, to a friend
The most inviting landscape, where we say,
"Here we may rest and make this landscape ours,"
For him is apprehension. To convey
A moment of its meaning calls on powers
He sometimes doubts possessing. In his hand
The palette with its colored spots and smears
Seems to match nothing. On the easel's bland
And vacant canvas not a line appears
To guide him. While we gaze and shift our eyes
Accumulating all there is to see,
His fuller sight begins to realize
A world brought into being anxiously,
Where structured shapes and contoured colors show
A calmer scene than any we could know.