You query beauty, foul from fair.
She vows his voice; he swears her hair.
Perhaps this painting's frame contains
a castle where glamor remains,
or dancing sculptures in the hall
whirled in stillness grace withal,
or fountains frothing in your yard
refreshing senses give regard.

That string quartet entrances me
as these three windows heed the sea,
those gorgeous gardens past the gates
where variegation captivates.
When asked, I'll show, apprise, extol,
and yet it's you alone who'll know
what wings your spirits toward the skies.
Discount my counsel: trust your eyes!