Death is the mother of beauty. Only the perishable can be beautiful, which is why we are unmoved by artificial flowers.

I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflections, Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling, Or just after

I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflections, Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling, Or just after.

Beauty is momentary in the mind / The fitful tracing of a portal; / But in the flesh it is immortal. / The body dies; the body's beauty lives.

Death is the mother of Beauty; hence from her, Alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams And our desires

Death is the mother of Beauty; hence from her, alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams and our desires.