David Osborne Hamilton

From “Hoofs and Haloes”

I

IT was not strange that Beauty found

Our path in June, and eagerly

Thrust up the gay flowers through the ground

And put a bird on every tree.

But strange it was when skies were grey

That Beauty followed where we led,

And sat beside our stove all day,

And lay at night upon our bed.

I live with Beauty, and across the way

I see a shabby park where women sit

And scold the dirty children from their play,

While old men shift their wrinkled legs and spit.

So close to me these dusty lives go past—

Shall I cry out how Beauty came to me?

O futile lips, be still! O heart, close fast!

Break not with joy, lest you set Beauty free!