Classic Poem

Beauty makes all things fair, from high to low,
Because no imperfections from her flow;
Her very sadness wears a singing face,
Glad with the singing gladness of her grace.
She hides all flaws; fits sorrow to a hymn;
Gives flashing sight to eyes that tears bedim;
She chokes our laughter with a sobbing sigh;
She checks our sobbing with a mirth made high.
In her religion, murder, love and tears
Course rhythmic thro' the even-flowing years
As melodies in one enchantment strong —
The moving music of her matchless song.