My love of Beauty, nurtured through the years,
Of form and fair proportion’s served me well.
Yet often I ask: where does my true love dwell?
Within my soul; this heart; these eyes; or ears?
Does she conduct the music of the spheres?
Or, sit in silence sweet on Lakeland fell?
Are roses’ heavenly scent bound by her spell?
Her spirit surely lives in all that cheers.
She has no price, is far beyond compare,
Her soul’s untarnished, of pure love is cast.
Her rhythm of life is yours; speak out, you bards!
Mendacity’s disguise we’ll make threadbare;
For Beauty is Truth, to her we must hold fast,
That she may share with all her own rewards.
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh, 30th June 2023