I love all beauteous things, I seek and adore them; God hath no better praise, And man in his hasty days Is honoured for them. I too will something make And joy in the making; Although to-morrow it seem Like the empty words of a dream Remembered on waking. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS ON TAGORE by MARIANNE MOORE THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER by JOHN CROWE RANSOM |