Classic Poem

Only the things of Beauty shall endure.
While man goes woeful, wasting his brief day,
From Truth and Love and Nature far astray,
Lo! Beauty, the lost goal, the unsought cure;
For how can he whom Beauty hath made sure,
Who hath her law and sovereign creed by heart,
Be proud, or pitiless, play the tyrant's part,
Be false, or envious, greedy or impure
Nay! she will gift him with a golden key
To unlock every virtue. Name not ye,
As once, " the good, the beautiful, the true, "
For these are but three names for one sole thing;
Or rather Beauty is the perfect ring
That circles and includes the other two.