The beautiful face has nothing to say,
It communicates with looks;
Poetry can talk for hours;
That’s how it gets into books.
A beautiful face is called beautiful
And that is the end of that;
If poetry attempts to be beautiful,
It no longer wants to chat.
Beauty makes everything silent:
Tower, sun, thought, snow.
Poetry talks on and on,
And doesn’t really know.
The beautiful do not like poetry,
For poetry is ugly and fat;
Poetry is intellectually beautiful
And the merely beautiful do not like that.
The beautiful do not like poetry,
For poetry is needy and thin.
Poetry is sadly beautiful
But the beautiful, beautiful to win.
