O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," - that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
— John Keats
Ode on a Grecian Urn
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
— Lord Byron
I always say beauty is only sin deep.
— Saki (H.H. Munroe)
My love, in her attire doth show her wit;
It doth so well become her.
For every season she hath dressings fit,
For winter spring and summer.
No beauty doth she miss,
When all her robes are on;
But beauty's self she is,
When all her robes are gone.
A terrible beauty is born.
— W. B. Yeats
His golden locks time hath to silver turned;
O time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing!
His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurned,
But spurned in vain; youth waneth by increasing:
Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen;
Duty, faith, love, are roots and ever green.
— George Peele, Polyhymnia
Sonnet ad fin
I feel like a fugitive from th' law of averages.
— Bill Mauldin