I Never saw a Purple Cow,
I never hope to see one;
But I can tell you, anyhow,
I rather see than be one.
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Blazing in Gold and quenching in Purple
Leaping like Leopards to the Sky
Then at the feet of the old Horizon
Laying her spotted Face to die
Stooping as low as the Otter's Window
Touching the Roof and tinting the Barn
Kissing her Bonnet to the Meadow
And the Juggler of Day is gone -
Contending with the grass,
Near kinsman to herself,
For privilege of sod and sun,
Sweet litigants for life.
And when the hills are full,
And newer fashions blow,
Doth not retract a single spice
For pang of jealousy.
Her public is the noon,
Her providence...Purple — is fashionable twice —
This season of the year,
And when a soul perceives itself
To be an Emperor.The Hills erect their Purple Heads
The Rivers lean to see
Yet Man has not of all the Throng
A Curiosity.The Hills in Purple syllables
The Day's Adventures tell
To little Groups of Continents
Just going Home from School.Where Ships of Purple — gently toss —
On Seas of Daffodil —
Fantastic Sailors — mingle —
And then — the Wharf is still!