it is addressed thusly:
A vision.it reads:
Not I, for I am not an aesthete
In them there is too much love
For that which they cannot complete
Life is pain enough just thinking of
How crooked the boughs bent down
A merciless gaze of True Beauty
In which there is no kindness or duty
At least has the dignity to frown;
Too much love of woman as thing
The humanist; with the image of Man
A Bachanalian in his cups to sing
Of which way his last fancy ran
It is thingness all the way down
Do not objectify, but love beauty?
But if lovely, then is love duty
And to possess all but then to frown?
Even the subject is an object with Man
A mystery of two paths must go
They say it is fine for those who can
But the have-nots must all know
But God bless the child, for gone-down
Is the reaching-across that is Beauty
Drowned now in the sea of strange duty
Lost is even her ephemeral frown;
You have made it all one thing or another
But is there not a wondrous pleasure
In writing 'she', just about one other
- an alien like myself without measure?
Sorrow, fear, laugh, at the last sundown
Write whatever you think is 'beauty'
But know, you who live without duty
You will live always with a frown.