Sonnet X
A splendor, flamelike, born to be pursued,With palms extent for amorous charityAnd eyes incensed with love for all they see,A wonder more to be adored than wooed,On whom the grace of conscious womanhoodAdorning every little thing she doesSits like enchantment, making gloriousA careless pose, a casual attitude;Around her lovely shoulders mantle-wiseHath come the realm of those old fabulous queensWhose storied loves are Art’s rich heritage,To keep alive in this our latter ageThat force that moving through sweet Beauty’s meansLifts up Man’s soul to towering enterprise.