If thou of fortune be bereft,
And thou dost find but two loaves left
To thee-sell one, and with the dole
Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.
But not alone does beauty bide
Where bloom and tint and fragrance hide;
The minstrel's melody may feed
Perhaps a more insistent need.
But even beauty, howe'er blent
To ear and eye, fails to content;
Only the heart, with love afire,
Can satisfy the soul's desire.
James terry White