BEAUTY
I
"HAD I two loaves of bread—ay, ay!
One would I sell and hyacinths buy
To feed my soul."—"Or let me die!"
Beauty, dew-sweet, of heavenly birth,
Thy flower is writ of grief, not mirth,
Thy rainbow's footed on the earth.
Rainbows and Hyacinths! O seers,
Your voices call across the years: