A fragile flame’s caress hath faded in the night,
My heart’s a ravaged nest - no blood in it, no light.
How might I quest for dame, a beauty unattained,
That many sought in vain and lucky few have claimed?
The bronze and marble cold are doomed to waste away,
Ere likeness is bestowed that ages may not slay!
The likeness of her eyes’ akin to starlit veil,
Exceeding any prize, her face – enchanted tale…
Men seek for many dreams, yet apparitions find,
In sooth, few ever claim that beauty deep inside.
That beauty’s hope and faith, love of immortal kind.
Few know its proper place, few Path to Beauty find…
My most profound gratitude to Шерлин Росса for "Красота": http://www.stihi.ru/2010/03/20/7970
