Your souls are blinded and your eyes deceived, Ye who find Beauty in a passing rose, Singing the wonder of each bud that blows And sighing how the senses are bereaved When a frail flower fades before the wind. She has no place in earthly lovelinss And few are they whose straining hearts may guess That she is but a phantom of the mind. Beauty is Song, interminably sung; The whisper of the wind among the trees, The verveless drone of clover-seeking bees, Or music on a winging sky-lark's tongue. Know these as her etherial disguise And search her out with unencumbered eyes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INDEPENDENCE DAY, 1956, A FAIRY TALE by JAMES GALVIN A DAY IN BED by KATHERINE MANSFIELD IN A BURYING GROUND by SARA TEASDALE THE WOOING by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 6. A WIFE WAITS by THOMAS HARDY THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW NEW YORK AT NIGHT by AMY LOWELL |