Only since college have I begun my slow process of appreciating poetry. This has certainly helped me along.
I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.
He questioned softly why I failed?
‘For beauty,’ I replied.
‘And I for truth,-the two are one;
We brethren are,’ he said.
And so, as kinsmen met at night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.