Sometimes, slow moving through unlovely days,
The need to look on beauty falls on me
As on the blind the anguished wish to see,
As on the dumb the urge to rage or praise;
Beauty of marble where the eyes may gaze
Till soothed to peace by white serenity,
Or canvas where one master hand sets free
Great colours that like angels blend and blaze.

O, there be many starved in this strange wise—
For this diviner food their days deny,
Knowing beyond their vision beauty stands
With pitying eyes—with tender, outstretched hands,
Eager to give to every passer-by
The loveliness that feeds a soul's demands.