  I cannot live with Beauty out of mind; I seek her and desire her all the day, Being the chiefest treasure man may find, And word most sweet his eager lips can say. She is as strong on me as though I wandered In Severn meadows some blue riotous day. But since the trees have long since lost their green, And I, an exile, can but dream of things Grown magic in the mind, I watch the sheen Of frost and hear the song Orion sings, And hear the star-born passion of Beethoven; Man’s consolations sung on the quivering strings. Beauty of song remembered, sunset glories, Mix in my mind, till I not care nor know Whether the stars do move me, golden stories, Or ruddy Cotswold in the sunset glow. I am uprapt, and not my own, immortal, ... In winds of Beauty swinging to and fro. Beauty immortal, not to be hid, desire Of all men, each in his fashion, give me the strong Not to be quenched.... O lift me, bear me along, Touch me, make me worthy that men may seek me For Beauty, Mistress Immortal, Healer of Wrong. |
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