Micro PoetryMusingsPoetry

To Beauty

All emotions,
All passions,
All delights,
Whatever moves this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of light,
And feed her sacred flame.

I played a soft and doleful air,
I sang an old and loving song,
A song for a wild heart,
She listened with a flitting blush that lit,
The stream shuns and sings of beauty,
For a soul so quiet and fair…

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