After I devoutly kneeled as was wont to do
Fra Angelico, before painting the serene sky
of ancient Florence, I have not found beauty.
Nor have I found it in the noble order of Greek temples
or in literature's expanse of beaches.
Forever unattainable, it has become distance
on any sounding board: and the rosy petals
of the almond trees are cold when I write its name.

Translated by Julie Wark