The thing of beauty, is not a thing it seems
The thing of beauty! Nor is it a dream
The thing of beauty, is but a lady?
The thing of beauty, an angel, maybe?

The thing about beauty is
That it is disconnected from the body; this
Empty shell, empty without the soul that it has
Eternal is this, unlike the shell which will pass

But what is beauty, maybe ye qualm
What is beauty? Give it a troubled mind a serene calm
Give it a troubled heart a soothing peace
To mind, body and soul, will it put at ease.

What is this beauty, be it of the mortals?
Nay says I. For only one a million are they; though the portal
That defines the mortal and the angelic
In its light makes all else look meek; pathetic!

Fallen, rather sent by the Maker to ease
The growing unrest among the meek and instill peace
Predetermined are their fates in the land of the mortals
For after their task, return they back through that portal

Yet there be every other time
When this order doesn’t fall in line
A meeker mortal of the fore
Has given his heart away to that angelic lore


To that sweet sound upon his ears, of no equal
To this ethereal beauty, of no equal
To this beauty, not her shell, which is a vessel
To the beauty, all the words of the meek only seem to lessen

The essence of beauty, but what may they say
For what they convey are beyond the imagination of the man of lay
Words are but words, however nectarine
They are not sweet enough to describe the beauty doctrine

For beauty is not a word, nor a shape
For beauty is not a sentence, nor a maiden in jasmine cape
For beauty is not even of this world, cold and mortal
For this beauty is in the realm yonder of that portal

Beauty, that which cannot be seen but felt
Beauty, that which cannot be measured or dealt
Beauty, which one can see with none of the senses
Beauty; the very thought and mention cleanses

Beauty, that angelic shape
Beauty, that calming cape
Beauty, that elusive dove
Beauty is that mortal’s love.