RED.

ANY color, so long as it's red,

Is the color that suits me best,

Though I will allow there is much to be said

For yellow and green and the rest;

But the feeble tints which some affect

In the things they make or buy

Have never — I say it with all respect —

Appealed to my critical eye.

There's that in red that warmeth the blood,

And quickeneth a man within,

And bringeth to speedy and perfect bud

The germs of original sin;

So, though I'm properly born and bred,

I'll own, with a certain zest,

That any color, so long as it's red,

Is the color that suits me best.

For where is a color that can compare

With the blush of a buxom lass;

Or where such warmth as of the hair

Of the genuine white horse class?

And, lo! reflected within this cup

Of cheery Bordeaux I see

What inspiration girdeth me up,—

Yes, red is the color for me!

Through acres and acres of art I've strayed

In Italy, Germany, France;

On many a picture a master has made

I've squandered a passing glance:

Marines I hate, madonnas and

Those Dutch freaks I detest;

But the peerless daubs of my native land,—

They're red, and I like them best.

‘ Tis little I care how folk deride,—

I'm backed by the West, at least;

And we are free to say that we can n't abide

The tastes that obtain down East;

And we're mighty proud to have it said

That here in the versatile West

Most any color, so long as it's red,

Is the color that suits us best.