Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 141

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CXLI THE CONTENTS OF AN INK-BOTTLE
Well of blackness, all defiling,Full of flattery and reviling,Ah, what mischief hast thou wroughtOut of what was airy thought,What beginnings and what ends,Making and dividing friends!
Colours of the rainbow lieIn thy tint of ebony; ​Many a fancy have I foundBright upon that sombre ground;Cupid plays along the edge,Skimming o'er it like a midge;Niobe in turn appears,Thinning it with crystal tears.
False abuse and falser praise,Falsest lays and roundelays!One thing, one alone, I think,Never yet was found in ink;—Truth lies not, the truth to tell,At the bottom of this well!
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