Poet: Unknown
Red.
The gem for me is the ruby red,
A rich clear light doth it always shed;
The diamond's beauty is noised abroad;
But the ruby is first in the promise of God.
Orange.
The bright sardonyx stone will show
The second color of the row,
In the wondrous promise bow.
Yellow.
"With light's own smile the yellow burns,"
The poet says, and here I place
It's where the orange into yellow turns.
Green.
In the clover of the meadow
And the leaves upon the tree,
The ever-pleasing color
Of the emerald you see.
Blue.
O blue are the skies on a clear summer day
And blue are the fairest of flowers,
And blue is the turquoise, the jewel of truth,
That shines in this promise of ours.
Indigo.
A deeper blue is the sapphire's hue,
And richer this beautiful gem;
On heads of might it has shed its light,
From many a diadem.
Violet.
We've shown six colors of the bow,
Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and indigo;
The color of the amethyst,
The violet, now completes the list.
Quotes About Colors
Poet: Christina Rossetti
What is pink? a rose is pink
By a fountain's brink.
What is red? a poppy's red
In its barley bed.
What is blue? the sky is blue
Where the clouds float thro'.
What is white? a swan is white
Sailing in the light.
What is yellow? pears are yellow,
Rich and ripe and mellow.
What is green? the grass is green,
With small flowers between.
What is violet? clouds are violet
In the summer twilight.
What is orange? Why, an orange,
Just an orange!
Poet: Margaret E. Sangster
I love color.
I love flaming reds,
And vivid greens,
And royal flaunting purples.
I love the startled rose of the sun at dawning,
And the blazing orange of it at twilight.
Poet: Edgar A. Guest
Down the lanes of August - and the bees upon the wing,
All the world's in color now, and all the song birds sing;
Never reds will redder be, more golden be the gold,
Down the lanes of August, and the summer getting old.
Mother Nature's brushes now with paints are dripping wet,
Gorgeous is her canvas with the tints we can't forget;
Here's a yellow wheat field - purple asters there.
Riotous the colors that she's splashing everywhere.
Red the cheeks of apples and pink the peaches' bloom.
Redolent the breezes with the sweetness of perfume;
Everything is beauty crowned by skies of clearest blue.
Mother Earth is at her best once more for me and you.
Down the lanes of August with her blossoms at our feet.
Rich with gold and scarlet, dripping wet with honey sweet.
Rich or poor, no matter, here are splendors spread
Down the lanes of August, for all who wish to tread.
Poet: Caroline D. Swan
O pallid blue of yon ethereal sky,
O gold of sunset swiftly drawing near,
How soft ye meet and blend! The atmosphere
Still bids your sweet opposing tints ally
To create emerald. So pure and high
The delicate new tone, so elfin clear,
From both resultant - that we strain to hear
Its color-music. Painters, who descry
Its fair gradations, muse in wonderment.
So, love, thy soul with silent spirit touch
Re-acts on mine. Thy golden, calm content
Soothes its low stir, a-quiver overmuch;
'Tis warmth and light! As though some firebird flew
Into its deeps of meditative blue.
