Page:The roamer and other poems (1920).djvu/178

168 XXIV

hath not kissed the rose's tender leaf,

And sighed to think how easy 't is to show

To silent things of beauty the heart's woe,

And soothe with loveliness the spirit's grief?

How many an Attic stele's fair bas-relief,

That only now in memory I know,

Has helped me to renounce and to forego!

Of beauty's favors to me this is chief.

When nighest to perfection I have trod,

In art's still dream or where earth's roses burn,

But most where human souls at Hermes' rod

Turn marble-pure, life's deepest truth I learn,—

From the child's kiss, the grave's late-turnèd sod,—

Love is most sweet that looks for no return.