Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose was painted entirely
              out of doors at this magical twilight time of day.
              It’s a kind of Garden of Eden.

1. 1. Richard Ormond, Tate Curator

It’s dusk, the softened hour. Two girls, absorbed,
light paper lanterns, hems of frocks awash
in grass, in unkempt strews and sweeps of green.

Sargent’s skilled touch swims through the strokes and dots
each hog’s hair brush, each squirrel tip, could paint.

Lit Chinese globes meander in a swath,
orange across the middle of the work.

Brown hair short, ruffled collars framing them,
they face each other in a close-cropped world.
Neither painter nor viewer dares intrude.

(He’d painted Madame X the year before:
her skin, the flagrant pose, those narrow straps!
French judges stood fixed, mortified. She baits
us. Stare! Respond! He needed to reroute.)

Layered hues float: green, orange, gold, pink, hints
of violet rinse, cut by the verticals
of girls, two matches’ light suffusing them.

A covey of white lilies flocks above
yet evening hovers, still. Like childhood, all
stays intimate when no horizon shows.

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The featured image is “Carnation, Lily, Lily and Rose” (circa 1885) by John Singer Sargent, and is  in the public domain, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.