Classic Poem

Knights of the five arts that our sculptor prized:
How shall ye honor him and, in his place,
Those others of the Old and Happy Race
Who lived for beauty, and the golden lure despised?

Painter of music, Architect of song,
Sculptor in color, Poet in clay and bronze,
And thou whose unsubstantial fancy builds
Abiding symphonies from stone and space!
Mount ye to large horizons: ever be
As avid of other beauty as your own.
As nations greater are than all their states,
More than the sum of all the arts is Art.
High are their clear commands, but Art herself
Makes holier summons. Ever open stand
The doors of her free temple, At her shrine
In service of the world, whose hurt she heals,
Ye, too, physicians of the mind and heart—
Shall ye not take the Hippocratic oath?
Have ye not heard the voices of the night
Call you from kindred, comfort, sloth and praise,
To lead into the light the willing feet
That grope for order, harmony and joy?—
To reach full hands of bounty unto those
Who starve for beauty in our glut of gold?

How shall we honor him whom we revere—
Lover of all the arts and of his land?
How, but to cherish Beauty's every flower?—
How, but to live with Beauty, and so be
Apostles of Rejoicing to mankind?
Come, let us live with Beauty!