Song, in Deprecation of Pulchritude

Beauty (so the poets say),

Thou art joy and solace great;

Long ago, and far away

Thou art safe to contemplate,

Beauty. But when now and here,

Visible and close to touch,

All too perilously near,

Thou tormentest us too much!

In a picture, in a song,

In a novel’s conjured scenes,

Beauty, that’s where you belong,

Where perspective intervenes.

But, my dear, in rosy fact

Your appeal I have to shirk—

You disturb me, and distract

My attention from my work!