HOW BEAUTY CAME.
Not through the massive sun-washed doors, Flung wide in the noisy house of the mind. To these and the floors Her gipsy eyes were blind. The heart that we rigged as a cloistergarden. With young wild flowers to feast her eyes, She passed, like a restless prisonwarden. When dusk on the cell-tier dies. The lighted towers of sense and sight Grew lonely straining for her face In vain, we borrowed music’s might To lure her from her hiding-place. But when each soul was scourged with flame, And every heart by sorrow swept, Then, cold and naked, Beauty came Into our house and wept. —From “A Horn from Caerleon,” by J. Corsen Miller.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/TS19280523.2.171
Bibliographic details
Star (Christchurch), Issue 18470, 23 May 1928, Page 14
Word Count
115HOW BEAUTY CAME. Star (Christchurch), Issue 18470, 23 May 1928, Page 14
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