The truth of beauty is that men perceive

From that dear gaze where awed perfection’s found,

A vision rare, where smitten hearts receive

An image that might other souls confound.

In this resides sweet mysteries of love

Where myth and magic may at once be played

So every yearning heart might find its dove

And thus beguiled, rejoice with doubts allayed.

So judges love when two souls stand besotted

That in each other’s arms no fault they find,

Or if acknowledged, ever quick forgotten

As though sweet Aphrodite struck them blind.

I look at you and you do look at me—

Duped by our folly, charmed by what we see.