2.25.2010

Austere

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.

it reads:
In simple rows so roughly hewn
Undignified as almost strewn
But of those rotted and forgot
We still may say they are quite not

Not in a place ornate adorned
But simple and so careful formed
But where none care an arch to make
They will this way this thing forsake

Where the halls are high enough
Cut they smooth or cut they rough
But for those of men make small
We cannot this way truly call.

A cautious combination true
A contemplation we renew
Of inner beauty found so near
To the eye, this we call
Austere.

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