Beauty
Nora Hopper Chesson
1871 to 1906
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Beauty was born of the world's desire
For wandering water, the wandering fire.
Under the arch her hurrying feet
She has trodden a world of bittersweet.
The blood of the violet is her veins,
Her pulse has the passion of rains.
Out of the heart of a satin
God made her eyelids in one sweet hour.
Out of the wind He made her feet
they might be lovely, and luring, and fleet.
of a cloud He wove her hair
Heavy black with the rain held there.
What is name? There's none that knows—
Mother-o'-mischief, or Mouth-o'-rose.
What is her pathway? None may tell.
But climbs to heaven and it dips to hell.
garment on her is mist and fire,
Anger sorrow and heart's desire.
Her forehead-jewel's an amethyst,
The garland to her is love-in-a-mist.
Her girdle of the beryl-stone,
And one dark rose for flower has grown,
Filled to the brim with the o' the sun,
A passionate rose, and only one.
The bird in her breast sings all day
A wonderful, wistful, whispering song:
The song is of all passing things,
None knows it — or born with wings.
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