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!

And for twice a thousand years,
Floating through the radiant ether,
Lived the happy glendoveers,