I heard there was no place among the powers
For Beauty; that she stands not in the plan;
That even the tints which glorify the flowers
Came but for use, and not for joy to man.
Ah, sophist, tracing through gradations fine
A wondrous story hid from eyes more dull,
You know how beauty comes to tint and line,-
Tell us, what makes the beauty beautiful?
We will be glad because the crocus takes
Such tender curves before her buds are riven,-
Because at morn the wave of colour breaks
Like a great burst of music over heaven,-
Because each accident of light or shade,
The copse, the cliff, the field, the shore, endears,-
Because no living thing can grow or fade
Without a charm that touches us to tears,-
Because the Voice proclaiming all things good,
Even to the least a twofold work imparts,
And colours, tempting insects to their food,
Are banquets for our grateful eyes and hearts.
(Menella Bute Smedley)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, Light Poems, Heaven Poems, Flowers Poems, Beauty Poems, Music Poems, Food Poems, Charm Poems, Planning PoemsBased on Keywords: sophist, gradations