38

To what serves mortal beauty | dangerous; does set danc- ing blood the O-seal-that-so | feature, flung prouder form

Than Purcell tune lets tread to? | See: it does this: keeps warm

Men's wits to the things that are; | what good means — where a glance

Master more may than gaze, | gaze out of countenance.

Those lovely lads once, wet-fresh | windfalls of war's storm,

How then should Gregory, a father, | have gleanèd else from swarm- ed Rome? But God to a nation | dealt that day's dear chance.

To man, that needs would worship | block or barren stone,

Our law says: Love what are | love's worthiest, were all known;

World's loveliest — men's selves. Self | flashes off frame and face.

What do then? how meet beauty? | Merely meet it; own,

Home at heart, heaven's sweet gift; | then leave, let that alone.

Yea, wish that though, wish all, | God's better beauty, grace.