Your souls are blinded and your eyes deceived, Ye who find Beauty in a passing rose, Singing the wonder of each bud that blows And sighing how the senses are bereaved When a frail flower fades before the wind. She has no place in earthly lovelinss And few are they whose straining hearts may guess That she is but a phantom of the mind. Beauty is Song, interminably sung; The whisper of the wind among the trees, The verveless drone of clover-seeking bees, Or music on a winging sky-lark's tongue. Know these as her etherial disguise And search her out with unencumbered eyes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BOOK OF MARTYRS by EMILY DICKINSON A DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO SHEPHERDS IN PRAISE OF ASTRAEA by MARY SIDNEY HERBERT EVANGELINE; A TALE OF ACADIE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW JANUARY, 1795 by MARY DARBY ROBINSON LINES ON THE MONUMENT OF GIUSEPPE MAZZINI by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE SOBBING OF THE BELLS (MIDNIGHT, SEPT. 19-20, 1881) by WALT WHITMAN |