Sonnet in Dialectic
Edna St. Vincent Millay
1892 to 1950
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And is indeed truth beauty?—at the cost
Of else that we cared for, can this be?—
see the coarse triumphant, and to see
Honour and ridiculed, and tossed
Upon a poked-at fire; all courage
Save what is whelped and fattened by decree
To among the unsuspecting free
And trap the thoughtful, with thoughts engrossed?
Drag yet that stream for Beauty, if will;
And find her, if you can; finding her
Will not dismay your ethics,—you will still
To and all insist she has been found . . .
And haggard men will smile your praise, until,
Some day, they stumble on her burial-mound.
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