Classic Poem

So were we born to dread and to despise
Our common days, ignore the commonplace,
To seek some unguessed haunt where on our eyes
Beauty shall fall with her redeeming grace.

Looking to some to-morrow for our hope,
We reach athwart this living hour our hands
Into the unlit, the unknown, to grope
Like blind men wandering in unknown lands,

Until at last we know they seek in vain,
Who find no wonder in the trodden place,
The naked hill flower beaten by the rain,
The pathos of the ages in man's face.

Oh then the seeker after God returns
To kiss the common clay where Beauty burns.