THE LIVING BEAUTY
 
 I BADE, because the wick and oil are spent
 And frozen are the channels of the blood,
 My discontented heart to draw content
 From beauty that is cast out of a mould
 In bronze, or that in dazzling marble appears,
 Appears, but when wc have gone is gone again,
 Being more indifferent to our solitude
 Than 'twere an apparition.  O heart, we are old;
 The living beauty is for younger men:
 We cannot pay its rribute of wild tears.