Man must walk hand-in-hand with beauty
To know the scope of his role.
Without it, the psyche dwells in darkness,
For beauty lights the lamp of one's soul.

Aesthetics, whether man-made:

Poegnant song of a violin rare,
Ballet's wondrous, panther grace,
A stunning work of art
With a master's soul revealed there.

Or whether crafted by a heavenly crew
In some celestial workshop:

Beauty prevails for you and me
Despite man's seeming efforts
To obscure it with his debris.
Awesome splendor of the setting sun
Is there for all to see,
And the moon, that ghostly galleon,
Sails high from heaven's gate
Spreading it's sheen alike
O'er tenement and landed estate.
Stars of the twilight sing together
For all--no one's advocate.

In wretched city streets, where
A lonely tree covers with its shadow
All who would its comfort share
A tiny blossom thrusts its way
Through a crack in the sidewalk there.
Showers of the mountains come and go
On summer clouds impatient wings
And non-partisan drops of rain
Fall the same on beggars and kings,
Both can rejoice at the sight
Of beauty that nature brings.

Truly, none is so blind
As he who will not see,
For beauty to nourish man's soul
Is there for all; it's there for thee!!!