Of every gesture Beauty makes I know that I can find, A curve is like a song unheard But singing to the mind. What Beauty utters in her curves, I always like to mark In veering of a bird in flight Or in a fountain's arc. The haunting crescent of the moon Arches into a hymn; The rainbow gestures eloquent With music of its rim. But yet, of all the singing curves, Most lyrical belong To symmetries of girls that coin The silence into song! |