(Lines written after viewing Mr Arthur Dove's br exposition of the 'Simultaneousness of the Ambient') br br br I cannot tell you how I love br The canvases of Mr Dove, br Which Saturday I went to see br In Mr Thurber's gallery. br br At first you fancy they are built br As patterns for a crazy-quilt, br But soon you see that they express br An ambient simultaneousness. br br This thing which you would almost bet br Portrays a Spanish omelette, br Depicts instead, with wondrous skill, br A horse and cart upon a hill. br br Now, Mr Dove has too much art br To show the horse or show the cart; br Instead he paints the br creak br and br strain, br br Get it? No pike is half so plain. br br This thing which would appear to show br A fancy vest scenario, br Is really quite another thing -- br A flock of pigeons on the wing. br br But Mr Dove is much too keen br To let a single bird be seen; br To show the pigeons would not do, br And so he simply paints the coo. br br It's all as simple as can be; br He paints the things you cannot see. br Just as composers please the ear br With programme things you cannot hear. br br Dove is the cleverest of chaps; br And, gazing at his rhythmic maps, br I wondered (and I'm wondering yet) br Whether he did them on a bet.