The beauty of life
Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her
unless she herself be your way and your guide?
And how shall you speak of
her except she be the weaver of your speech?
The aggrieved and the injured
say, "Beauty is kind and gentle. Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory
she walks among us."
And the passionate say, "Nay, beauty is a thing of
might and dread.
Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the
sky above us."
The tired and weary ball mill worker says, "beauty is
of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit.
Her voice yields to our
silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow."
But the
restless say, "We have heard her shouting among the mountains,
And with her
cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of
lions."
At night the watchmen of the city say, "Beauty shall rise with the
dawn from the east."
And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, "we
have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset."
In
winter say the snow-bound, "She shall come with the spring leaping upon the
hills."
And in the summer heat the reapers say, "We have seen her dancing
with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair."
All these
things have you said of beauty.
Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of
needs unsatisfied,
And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.
It is not a
mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,
But rather a heart
enflamed and a soul enchanted.
It is not the image you would see nor the
song you would hear,
But rather an image you see though you close your eyes
and a song you hear though you shut your ears.
It is not the sap within the
furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw,
But rather a garden forever in
bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight.
beauty is life when life
unveils her holy face.
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