O beauty, thou art winner; yea, though halting in the race,
Hippodame, Camilla, Atalanta,—in gracefulness ye fascinate your umpires;
O beauty, thou art rich; yea, though clad in russet,
Attalus cannot boast his gold against the wealth of beauty;
O beauty, thou art noble; yea, though Esther be an exile,
Set her up on high, ye kings, and bow before the majesty of beauty!
Friend and scholar, who, in charity, hast walked with me thus far,
We have wandered in a wilderness of sweets, tracking beauty's footsteps:
And ever as we rambled on among the tangled thicket,
Many a startled thought hath tempted further roaming: