Classic Poem

All must have Beauty, else they pine and die.
Some to possess her the far quest must lead,
Ascend Olympus and invade the sky!
I will create the Beauty that I need
Out of spent things that disregarded lie,
From every mundane use dismissed and freed.

Give me your dust, O delicate gone things
That were so worshipped in the ascendent year,
That now the harpy gust befouling flings
Under their feet who have nor love nor fear.
Give me the moultings from yon wonder wings
And I to Heliopolis will steer
And find the phœnix at those crimson springs
Where he renews him on his cradle-bier!

I will take shard and wave-shot laminae
Of shells that lie along the slope-brown sand,
Housings of life, scarce more than foam of sea
That shaped them, whirling—whirling would disband.
Bring the long ribbons of the dulse to me,
These will I braid together, strand by strand.

Bring me but from the cottage hearth a toll
Of filmy ash that gives soft death to fire,
Like a gray moss o'ergrowing the live coal
Until its substance it has wormed entire,
Within such driftage there abides a soul
Will recreate itself at my desire.

So now I warp my loom and sit to weave,
Shuttle in hand, the woof I seek alone.
But I will take whatso the rest would leave—
Treasurable once but now unvalued grown.
I, that come after, riches will I sheave
In the waste fields where careless ones have sown.
All must have Beauty—but I can retrieve
The lovely semblance when ye say 'tis flown!