The soul of beauty God had made when He
Had carved the mountains, boundaried the sea ...
But always in his search there fell across
His path the shadow of the albatross
Of selfishness whose discord drowned the free
Clear flutes of gentler birds; bade beauty flee
From terraced gardens ... Long he mourned his loss.
Then through the squalid streets of Greece he walked--
One drooping flower bloomed to lend its grace
Where bone-lean children carved their dreams in dust.
Startled, he saw--where fear and hunger stalked--
The soul of beauty in the withered face
Of one who gave away his last dry crust.
