Sonnet X

 A splendor, flamelike, born to be pursued, 
With palms extent for amorous charity 
And eyes incensed with love for all they see, 
A wonder more to be adored than wooed, 
On whom the grace of conscious womanhood 
Adorning every little thing she does 
Sits like enchantment, making glorious 
A careless pose, a casual attitude; 
Around her lovely shoulders mantle-wise 
Hath come the realm of those old fabulous queens 
Whose storied loves are Art's rich heritage, 
To keep alive in this our latter age 
That force that moving through sweet Beauty's means 
Lifts up Man's soul to towering enterprise.

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