Classic Poem

Teach me the secret of thy loveliness,
— That, being made wise, I may aspire to be
As beautiful in thought, and so express
— Immortal truths to earth's mortality;
Though to my soul ability be less
— Than 'tis to thee, O sweet anemone.

Teach me the secret of thy innocence,
— That in simplicity I may grow wise,
Asking from Art no other recompense
— Than the approval of her own just eyes;
So may I rise to some fair eminence,
— Though less than thine, O cousin of the skies.

Teach me these things, through whose high knowledge, I, —
— When Death hath poured oblivion through my veins,
And brought me home, as all are brought, to lie
— In that vast house, common to serfs and thanes, —
I shall not die, I shall not utterly die,
— For beauty born of beauty — that remains.