Page:Poems by Isaac Rosenberg (1922).djvu/178



So thy soul's meekness shrinks, Too loth to show her face— Why should she shun the world? It is a holy place.

Concealed to itself If the flower kept its scent, Of itself amorous, Less rich its ornament.

Use—utmost in each kind— Is beauty, truth in one, While soul rays light to soul In one God-linked sun.