"He need not write the books men read to be an artist. No, indeed!
He need not work with paint and brush to show his love of art;
Who does a kindly deed to-day and helps another on his way,
Has painted beauty on a face and played the poet's part.
"Though some of us cannot express our inmost thoughts of loveliness,
We prove we love the beautiful by how we act and live;
The poet singing of a tree no greater poet is than he
Who finds it in his heart some care unto a tree to give.
"Though he who works in marble stone the name of artist here may own,
No less an artist is the man who guards his children well;
'Tis art to love the fine and true; by what we are and what we do
How much we love life's nobler things to all the world we tell."
She Powders Her Nose
A woman is queer, there's no doubt about that.
She hates to be thin and she hates to be fat;
One minute it's laughter, the next it's a cry--
You can't understand her, however you try;
But there's one thing about her which everyone knows--
A woman's not dressed till she powders her nose.
You never can tell what a woman will say;
She's a law to herself every hour of the day.
It keeps a man guessing to know what to do,
And mostly he's wrong when his guessing is through;
But this you can bet on, wherever she goes
She'll find some occasion to powder her nose.
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