To a Windflower, by Madison Cawein


  Teach me the secret of thy loveliness,
    That, being made wise, I may aspire to be
  As beautiful in thought, and so express
    Immortal truths to Earth's mortality;
  Though to my soul ability be less
    Than 'tis to thee, O sweet anemone.


  Teach me the secret of thy innocence,
    That in simplicity I may grow wise;
  Asking of Art no other recompense
    Than the approval of her own just eyes;
  So may I rise to some fair eminence,
    Though less than thine, O cousin of the skies.


  Teach me these things; through whose high knowledge, I,—
    When Death hath poured oblivion through my veins,
  And brought me home, as all are brought, to lie
    In that vast house, common to serfs and thanes,—
  I shall not die, I shall not utterly die,
    For beauty born of beauty—that remains.