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3

SONNET I
BEAUTY'S SPLENDOUR

For those who once have marvelled at her splendour
And known it no alternative remains,—
For ever doomed to suffer endless pains,
Or else in emptiness their souls surrender
That Beauty in a vision may engender
The new-born power of singing endless strains.
A wave of mounting melody most tender
From sweet rose-scented subtle mouth she rains
Upon them: they must echo it, or never
Win rest, or cushioned couch, or conscious ease;
Their souls from Beauty they will not dissever;
The stern-eyed Goddess they cannot appease
Save by a manful choice to sing for ever
All that, and nothing save what, she shall please.
1870.