Who says that fictions only and false hair
Become a verse? Is there in truth no beauty?
Is all good structure in a winding stair?
May no lines pass, except they do their duty
Not to a true, but painted chair?
Is it no verse, except enchanted groves
And sudden arbours shadow coarse-spun lines?
Must purling streams refresh a lover’s loves?
Must all be veil’d, while he that reads, divines,
Catching the sense at two removes?
Shepherds are honest people; let them sing;
Riddle who list, for me, and pull for prime;
I envy no man’s nightingale or spring;
Nor let them punish me with loss of rhyme,
Who plainly say, my God, my King.
George Herbert (1593–1633)
CONNECT/HOOK 
You’re the last purist.
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Because of something in the poem? Or just the fact that it is from the 1600s? I’m interested in what you mean.
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“Must all be veil’d, while he that reads, divines”. I think that captures your love for classicism and general distaste for the abstract. You treasure beauty that has a discernible meaning and a sensible structure. I may be misreading you, but that’s what I’m learning so far.
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Yes. You have said it well and concisely. But if you knew the poetry I loved before my conversion, you would laugh in disbelief.
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sounds like we need to take this off the wall and head back to email…
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Yes. You are right.
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