Page:Three Plays Sunderland Hills.pdf/162

Rh

Let be, let be, to all who love her well Still Beauty speaks a universal tongue Unknowing strife of Babel-jargoning, And Art can make you from your servitude Of task unlovely, uncongenial toil, Free citizens of dear Callipolis The Soul's ideal city! Never deem That Beauty is a thing remote, ensky'd Outside our daily being, think her not A parasite upon the Tree of Life, But that fair bough's supremest blossoming. Essential Beauty mortals never know But Nature's beauty, its reflection, Partaker in it, but by matter marr'd The fair face mirror'd in a metal dim. Still when very Beauty comes to birth Led of a legend, steering by a star, The world's Wise Men set forth on pilgrimage, And if they find it they are bless'd indeed,