The Beauty
From a sculptural dream I have rare beauty,
And my breast, - garden where I grow pain,
Make Poet awaken a live and intense love,
With the eternal change of Carrara marble
I'm subtle Sphinx in Blue dominating,
From swan whiteness and cold snow;
I hate the movement, and I shine the harmony;
I never knew what it is to laugh, nor do I know what it is to cry.
The Poet, if you see me in the attitudes
That I seem to copy from the noblest statues,
Consume night and day in ingent studies..
I have, to fascinate my sweet lover,
Crystal mirrors, which made it stunning
The very imperfection: - my burning eyes!
By Arthur Drummond (British, 1871–1951) - Bathing Beauties
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