To (I send you here)

by Alfred Lord Tennyson

I send you here a sort of allegory–
For you will understand it–of a soul,
A sinful soul possess’d of many gifts,
A spacious garden full of flowering weeds,
A glorious devil, large in heart and brain,
That did love beauty only–beauty seen
In all varieties of mould and mind–
And knowledge for its beauty; or if good,
Good only for its beauty, seeing not
That Beauty, Good, and Knowledge are three sisters
That doat upon each other, friends to man,
Living together under the same roof,
And never can be sunder’d without tears.
And he that shuts Love out, in turn shall be
Shut out from Love, and on her threshold lie
Howling in outer darkness. Not for this
Was common clay ta’en from the common earth
Moulded by God, and temper’d with the tears
Of angels to the perfect shape of man.