Go, if you will; you will not be the first
That looked for beauty in a field or stream,
Nor the last that turned his back on life, to dream
In passive prettiness. I went in thirst,
With pulse atingle, to a town accurst,
Where narrow gorges twinkle in the gleam
Of man-made stars, where jostle the extreme
Of the uttermost good life offers — and the worst.
Find beauty in a sedative, if you must,
In escape from life … I found her, labor-worn,
Candid paint on her lips, and the world’s desire.
As the El train lurched, from her thin white hand a crust
Fell, and two tears … And suddenly Beauty was born
And black Third Avenue burst into golden fire.
(Benjamin Musser)
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