A Problem in Aesthetics
A blade of grass one day observed a face
whose eager lineaments suggested grace.
"How delicate! How moving!" said the grass.
"Nature is wonder-working, in its class,
but far more wonderful what I invent,
for ah! my work is Art, not Accident!"
Growing still greener in this lovely thought
he danced a secret vision he had wrought:
enraptured movements, that belonged, by chance,
to an artist dreamily painting a green dance.
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