For This Beauty, Beauty Without

Remember The Golden Apple-trees; O, Do Not Pity Them, As You Watch Them Drop One By One, For They Fall Exhausted, Numb, Blind But In Certain Ecstasy, For Theirs Is The Hunger For Paradise.

You Are Wind In A Stark Tree, You Are The Stark Tree Unbent, You Are A Strung Bow, You Are An Arrow.

Escape From The Power Of The Hunting Pack, And To Know That Wisdom Is Best And Beauty Sheer Holiness.

I Testify To Rainbow Feathers, To The Span Of Heaven And Walls Of Colour, The Colonnades Of Jasper.

O Ruthless, Perilous, Imperious Hate, You Can Not Thwart The Promptings Of My Soul.