All men must feel the beauty of a star
That rides in the illimitable space
Of heav'n; the beauty of an Helen's face;
Or of a woodland water, glimpsed afar,
Where haze-empurpled meadows, undefined
And slumbrous, intervene; of quiet, cool,
Sequester'd glades, where in the level pool
The long green rushes dip before the wind.

These all men feel. But three times blessed he
Whose eye and ear, of finer fibre spun,
Sense the elusive thread of beauty, where
The common man hath deemed that none can be.
The beauty of the commonplace is one
In substance with the beauty of the rare.

Literary Monthly, 1910.