 | Poems |  |
33
BEAUTY.
It is not in the air that Beauty dwells;Nor do you steal upon her in her dreams
In the far glens; among the lonely streams
She is not now, pursuing water-bells;
Her feet are not among the pearly shells
Of some fair islet that we do not know,
Severed from sister archipelago,
And sitting in the sea that round it swells
Gently in the broad belt of calms. But where
From human eyes a noble soul looks forth
On Nature with the freedom of an heir—
Greedy, perhaps, but grateful for his share—
Beauty arising sings: She is the birth
Of the sweet sympathy of man with earth.
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