At night the watchmen of the city say, " Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east."
And at noon timen the toiler and the wayfarers say , " We have seem her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset."
In winter say the snow-bound , " She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills."
And in the summer heat the reapers say , " We have seem her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair."
All these things have you said of beauty, yet in trush you spoke nor of her but of need but an ecstasy. It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth, but rather a heart enflamed and soul enchanted, It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear, but you heat though you shit your ears. It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw, but rather a garden for ever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight.
Beauty is life when life unverls her holy face.
