The beautiful, the fair, the elegant, Is that which pleases us, says Kant, Without a thought of interest or advantage.
I used to watch men when they spoke of beauty And measure their enthusiasm. One An old man, seeing a ( ) setting sun, Praised it ( ) a certain sense of duty To the calm evening and his time of life. I know another man that never says a Beauty But of a horse; ( )
Men seldom speak of beauty, beauty as such, Not even lovers think about it much. Women of course consider it for hours In mirrors; ( )
A shrapnel ball - Just where the wet skin glistened when he swam - Like a fully-opened sea-anemone. We both said 'What a beauty! What a beauty, lad' I knew that in that flower he saw a hope Of living on, and seeing again the roses of his home. Beauty is that which pleases and delights, Not bringing personal advantage - Kant. But later on I heard A canker worked into that crimson flower And that he sank with it And laid it with the anemones off Dover