On the beach at night,
Stands a child with her father,
Watching the east, the autumn sky.
Up read more

On the beach at night,
Stands a child with her father,
Watching the east, the autumn sky.
Up through the darkness,
While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading,
Lower sullen and fast athwart and down the sky,
Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east,
Ascends large and calm the lord-star Jupiter,
And nigh at hand, only a very little above,
Swim the delicate sisters the Pleiades.
From the beach the child holding the hand of her father,
Those burial-clouds that lower victorious soon to devour all,
Watching, silently weeps.
Weep not, child,
Weep not, my darling,
With these kisses let me remove your tears,
The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious,
They shall not long possess the sky, they devour the stars only in apparition,
Jupiter shall emerge, be patient, watch again another night,
the Pleiades shall emerge,
They are immortal, all those stars both silvery and golden shall shine out again,
The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again, they endure,
The vast immortal suns and the long-enduring pensive moons shall again shine.
Then dearest child mournest thou only for jupiter?
Considerest thou alone the burial of the stars?
Something there is, (With my lips soothing thee, adding I whisper,
I give thee the first suggestion, the problem and indirection,)
Something there is more immortal even than the stars,
(Many the burials, many the days and nights, passing away,)
Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous Jupiter
Longer than sun or any revolving satellite,
Or the radiant sisters the Pleiades.

Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.

Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.

Beauty is mysterious as well as terrible. God and devil are fighting there, and the battlefield is the heart of read more

Beauty is mysterious as well as terrible. God and devil are fighting there, and the battlefield is the heart of man.

Thou who hast
The fatal gist of beauty.

Thou who hast
The fatal gist of beauty.

Beauty is how you feel inside, and it reflects in your eyes. It is not something physical.

Beauty is how you feel inside, and it reflects in your eyes. It is not something physical.

Beauty, more than bitterness, makes the heart break.

Beauty, more than bitterness, makes the heart break.

Love of beauty is Taste. The creation of beauty is Art.

Love of beauty is Taste. The creation of beauty is Art.

To be beautiful means to be yourself. You don’t need to be accepted by others. You need to accept yourself.

To be beautiful means to be yourself. You don’t need to be accepted by others. You need to accept yourself.

I would warn you that I do not attribute to nature either beauty or deformity, order or confusion. Only in read more

I would warn you that I do not attribute to nature either beauty or deformity, order or confusion. Only in relation to our imagination can things be called beautiful or ugly, well-ordered or confused.