Beauty is what is earned,
By sincere effort,
Of the hypocrite.

Beauty is what is earned,
By tender embrace,
Of the dying wretch.

Beauty is what is forgotten,
Before all other things are left alone.

Beauty is that,
Which needs not the minds of men to live,
Nor does it need the eyes of men to give.

Beauty is that,
Which lives without breath,
And dies without end,
But only does it increase by way of death.

Dying until only beauty fills existence,
And all others have vanished,
With their minds,
And their eyes.

And but a lonely beauty,
Is left behind.