To Jean McC

Thou child of Beauty, knowest not
Heaven claims thee her incarnate being
And Heaven from the common clay has wrought
All others in darkness of her shop she made unseeing.

Art thou the child of a sculptor a thought
Realized in perfect symmetry
Such vision in hungry dreams are bought
To flay the world through eternity.

Art thou a prayer of some forgotten seer
Whose life has ended befare a shadowy shrine
In vain pursuit must others suffer dear—
To see thee once is pain divine.