| |
| TO what serves mortal beauty ' —dangerous; does set danc- | |
| ing blood—the O-seal-that-so ' feature, flung prouder form | |
| Than Purcell tune lets tread to? ' See: it does this: keeps warm | |
| Men’s wits to the things that are; ' what good means—where a glance | |
| Master more may than gaze, ' gaze out of countenance. | 5 |
| Those lovely lads once, wet-fresh ' windfalls of war’s storm, | |
| How then should Gregory, a father, ' have gleanèd else from swarm- | |
| ed Rome? But God to a nation ' dealt that day’s dear chance. | |
| To man, that needs would worship ' block or barren stone, | |
| Our law says: Love what are ' love’s worthiest, were all known; | 10 |
| World’s loveliest—men’s selves. Self ' flashes off frame and face. | |
| What do then? how meet beauty? ' Merely meet it; own, | |
| Home at heart, heaven’s sweet gift; ' then leave, let that alone. | |
| Yea, wish that though, wish all, ' God’s better beauty, grace. |
No comments:
Post a Comment