The hand that dips the nib into the ink
Must first be practiced in a saintly art
‘Till all the hosts of Heaven see and think
That Goodness found a home within his heart.
And still the poet must not touch the page
Until he finds fair Truth along the way
And Reason helps the captive from her cage;
‘Till truth is his, the pen must idly lay.
And then let him by Beauty’s form create
The masterpieces of his worthy life.
But if the twain are bound to her in hate,
Then Beauty will become a faithless wife.
For Goodness, Truth, and Beauty are The Three:
Let every master set these muses free.