What is poetry? Is it a mosaic
Of coloured stones which curiously1 are wrought
Into a pattern? Rather glass that's taught
By patient labor2 any hue3 to take
And glowing with a sumptuous4 splendor5, make
Beauty a thing of awe6; where sunbeams caught,
Transmuted fall in sheafs of rainbows fraught
With storied meaning for religion's sake.
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