Euclid alone has
looked on Beauty
bare.
Let all
who prate of Beauty
hold their peace,
And lay them prone
upon the earth and
cease
To ponder
on themselves, the
while they stare
At nothing,
intricately drawn
nowhere
In
shapes of shifting
lineage; let
geese
Gabble
and hiss, but heroes
seek release
From dusty bondage
into luminous
air.
O blinding
hour, O holy,
terrible day,
When first the
shaft into his
vision shone
Of
light anatomized!
Euclid alone
Has looked on
Beauty bare.
Fortunate they
Who, though once
only and then but
far away,
Have
heard her massive
sandal set on stone.