ISSUE: Spring 1925
(Geneva)
Over Saleve I heard a skylark singing
Blessëd be Beauty, Beauty! He soared and swirled,
In very ecstasy of flight outflinging
His breathless music on a broken world.
Joy, the sole faith of that so tiny flyer
Twining unnumbered notes in psalms of praise,
Lifted him up on high and ever higher
Till the blue heaven hid him from my gaze.
Still he adored, flooding the sky and mountain
With delicate waves of sound more silver-sweet
Than the pure flowing of a pebbled fountain
To desert-farers fainting in the heat.
Beggar am I for Beauty’s least caress;
The little lark knows all her loveliness.
