“Let There Be Beauty …”
They err, who say joy cannot be in “things” –
That paintings, tapestries, a willow plate,
Or even priceless books and jeweled rings,
Are only dead stuff, quite inanimate.
They do not understand what I can see
Beyond some fragile object in my hands …
What voices, through my treasures, speak to me
Of bygone years, from strange and distant lands.
For Persia’s patient weavers were my kin,
And China’s old men at their potters’ wheels;
Smiths, sculptors, poets – all who knew within
Their hearts, such love for beauty as mine feels.
Across dim centuries we speak the common tongue
Creativeness has known since time was young.