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The Living Beauty
| I bade, because the wick and oil are spent | | And frozen are the channels of the blood, | | My discontented
heart to draw content | | From beauty that is cast out of a mould | | In bronze, or that in dazzling marble appears, | | Appears, but when we have gone is gone again, | | Being more indifferent to our solitude | | Than ’twere an
apparition. O heart, we are old; | | The living beauty is for younger men: | | We cannot pay its tribute of wild
tears. |
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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