How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true; But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

Land of Heart's Desire, Where beauty has no ebb, decay no flood, But joy is wisdom, time an endless song.

For such, Being made beautiful overmuch, Consider beauty a sufficient end, Lose natural kindness and maybe The heart-revealing intimacy That chooses right, and never find a friend. r

I heard the old, old, men say 'all that's beautiful drifts away, like the waters.'

Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?

Where beauty has no ebb, decay no flood, But joy is wisdom, time an endless song.

Time's bitter flood will rise,Your beauty perish and be lostFor all eyes but these eyes.

Time's bitter flood will rise, Your beauty perish and be lost For all eyes but these eyes.

Because of something told under the famished horn Of the hunter's moon, that hung between the night and the day, To dream of women whose beauty was folded in dismay, Even in an old story, is a burden not to be borne.