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.