Beauty forgotten yet is beauty still,
For nothing lovely ever upon earth,
Not Helen's face, nor Alexander's will,
Passing to death, but comes again to birth.
In some new brain the sleeping dust will waken;
Courage and love that conquered and were done,
Called from a night by thought of man forsaken,
Will know again the gladness of the sun.
And all things we have known for beauty here,
All little things fugitive and forgot,
Quick blossoms that have fallen year by year,
Kisses that even the dawn remembered not,
All these are now the judgement that we bring
To know the heart of every lovely thing.