TO A MODERN POET

Why must you sing of sorrow

When the world is so full of woe?

Why must you sing of the ugly?

For the ugly and sad I know.

Why will you sing of railways,

Of Iron and Steel and Coal,

And the din of the smoky cities?

For these will not feed my soul.

But sing to me songs of beauty

To gladden my tired eyes,—

The beauty of waving forest,

Of meadows and sunlit skies;

Sing me of childish laughter,

Of cradles and painted toys,

Of the sea and the brooks and the rivers,

And the shouting of bathing boys.

For the earth has a store of beauty

Deep hid from our blinded eyes,

And only the true-born poet

Knows just where the treasure lies.

So lead me from paths that are ugly,

From the dust of the city street.

To paths that are fringed with flowers,

Where the sky and the meadows meet.

And though Sorrow may walk beside me

To the far, far end of the road,

If Beauty but beckon me onward,

Less heavy will seem my load;

And led in the paths of beauty,

The world from its strife will cease;

For I know that the paths of beauty

Lead on to the paths of peace.