Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare. 
Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace, 
And lay them prone upon the earth and cease 
To ponder on themselves, the while they stare 
At nothing, intricately drawn nowhere 
In shapes of shifting lineage; let geese 
Gabble and hiss, but heroes seek release 
From dusty bondage into luminous air. 
O blinding hour, O holy, terrible day, 
When first the shaft into his vision shone 
Of light anatomized! Euclid alone 
Has looked on Beauty bare. Fortunate they 
Who, though once only and then but far away, 
Have heard her massive sandal set on stone.