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 am 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 be compared
With the blush of a buxom lass—
Or where such warmth as of the hair
Of the genuine white horse class?
And, lo, reflected in this cup
Of cherry 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 folks deride—
I'm backed by the west, at least,
And we are free to say that we can't abide
The tastes that obtain down east;
And we are mighty proud to have it said
That here in the critical west,
Most any color—so long as it's red—
Is the color that suits us best!