Here you will find the Poem The Thief of Beauty of poet Muriel Stuart
I The mind is Beauty's thief, the poet takes The golden spendthrift's trail among the blooms Where she stands tossing silver in the lakes, And twisting bright swift threads on airy looms. Her ring the poppy snatches, and the rose With laughter plunders all her gusty plumes. The poet gleans and gathers as she goes Heedless of summer's end certain and soon, Of winter rattling at the door of June. II When Beauty lies hand-folded, pale and still, Forsaken of her lovers and her lords, And winter keeps cold watch upon the hill, Then he lets fall his bale of coloured words. At frosty midnight June shall rise in flame, Move at his magic with her bells and birds, The rose will redden as he speaks her name. He shall release earth's frozen bosom there, And with great words shall cuff the whining air.
