Classic Poem

The greatest artist in the range of time
Is Nature. All the boast of Babylon,
The pomp of Nineveh, the pride of On,
The ravages of Rome, the brutal crime
Of every warrior host, her hand sublime
Has hidden under lotus leaves and gone.
Leaving the place to the unveiling dawn
And music of the bells at morning chime.

The light that runs unswerving down the sky
Shall not evade its bright unbending track,
Nor turn its silver feet of beauty back
Till every demon ugliness shall die.
The hand of Nature points us to a goal
Of joy and strength transfiguring the soul.