Wandrei's Poem

The Voice of Beauty

Like the voice of a wind that shivers and passes
With whispering steps through the willow-grasses,
Like the pain in a passionate note
From a nightingale's golden throat,
Like the voiceless cry
Of flowers as they die,
Desolate, lonely, and far,
Like a perishing star,
Like the wind, and the trees, and the rain,
That murmur of things that wane,
Like the rows of poppies, scattered and thinned,
Or the rustle of leaves that drift with the wind,
Like a mist that fades in the sodden skies
Is the voice of Beauty that dies.

{In case you can't read the page in the 1928 edition posted below}