BEAUTY WITHOUT BEAUTY

You, who don’t read, must think it strange

That I use my eyes

Not to navigate moving seas—

Not to chart moving orbs in the skies—

Not to pick out the one

I love under the sun—

But to squint instead at marks,

Which deface trees and parks.

What eyes could possibly love to look

At looking in a book?

Why seek freedom in prisons?

Beauty in blind words? Smiles in dark, visionless visions?

I’ll tell you why. Please read well:

Loving one by sight, I found myself in hell.

All that could go wrong in love, had.

Her beauty hurt me. It was bad.

I was drowning in vulgarity and sin.

I couldn’t think. Ugly images poured in.

Then a beautiful poet wrote to me.

I was protected from her beauty,

And found more beauty apart from piercing eyes;

Into our hearts poured the beauty of the skies,

And writing to her I found a calm, admiring bliss;

We felt love, and something close to the happiness of a kiss.

Beauty without beauty—the secret to intelligence and grace.

Beauty sending beauty. Love sent ahead by her beautiful face.

 

 

 

 

 

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1 Comment

  1. December 7, 2016 at 1:51 am

    “All changed, utterly:
    A terrible beauty is born.”

    William Butler Yeats


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