A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.

BEHOLD

Where lies the beauty of a rose,
If not arising up in you?
And where the course a river flows
Beyond that source to know it true?

Then nature's art is none at all
Save we distill the greater part,
As music charms no vacant hall,
Thus, love fills an absent heart.

1 comment:

Count Sneaky said...

The river runs through my mind because nature has no art and only one principle: repetition. We are channels for art...for music...and love. Brilliant poem...and something nothing in nature can rival.