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.