And the red can know no change,
  And the blue are blue forever,
  And the yellow wings may range
  Toward the white or purple never. 
  But they mingle free from strife,
  For their color is their life.

  When their color dies, they die,—­
  Blent with earth or ether slowly—­
  Leaving where their spirits lie,
  Not a stain, so pure and holy
  Is the essence and the thought
  Which their fading brings to naught!

  Each contented with the hue
  Which indues his wings of beauty,
  Red or yellow, white or blue,
  Sings the measure of his duty
  Through the summer clouds in peace,
  And delights that never cease.

  Not with envy love they more
  Locks and pinions purple-tinted,
  Nor with jealousy adore
  Those whose pleasures are unstinted,
  And whose purple hair and wings
  Give them place with queens and kings.

  When a purple glendoveer
  Flits along the mute expanses,
  They surround him, far and near,
  With their glancing wings and dances,
  And do honor to the hue
  Loved by all and worn by few.

  In the days long gone, alas! 
  Two upon a cloud, low-seated,
  Saw their pinions in the glass
  Of a silver lake repeated. 
  One was blue and one was red,
  And the lovely pair were wed.

  “Purple wings are very fine,”
  Spoke the voice of Ruby, gently: 
  “Ay” said Sapphire, “they’re divine!”—­
  Looking at his blue intently. 
  “But we’re blest,” said Ruby, then,
  “And we’ll not complain like men.”

  Sapphire stretched his loving arms,
  And she nestled on his bosom,
  While his heart inhaled her charms
  As the sense inhales a blossom;—­
  Drank her wholly, tint and tone,
  Blent her being with his own.

  Rapture passed, they raised their eyes,
  But were startled into clamor
  Of a marvellous surprise! 
  Was it color! was it glamour! 
  Purple-tinted, sweet and warm,
  Was each wing and folded form!

  Who had wrought it—­how it came—­
  These were what the twain disputed. 
  How were mingled smoke and flame
  Into royal hue transmuted? 
  Each was right, the other wrong: 
  But their quarrel was not long,

  For the moment that their speech
  Differed o’er their little story,
  Swiftly faded off from each
  Every trace of purple glory,
  Blue was bluer than before,
  And the red was red once more.

  Then they knew that both were wrong,
  And in sympathy of sorrow
  Learned that each was only strong
  In the power to lend and borrow,—­
  That the purple never grew
  But by grace of red to blue.

  So, embracing in content,
  Hearts and wings again united,
  Red and blue in purple blent,
  And their holy troth replighted,
  Both, as happy as the day,
  Kissed, and rose, and flew away!