Beauty does not mean pretty or handsome. A handsome man is just a collection of well drawn forms, but lacks that unique feature that transcends handsomeness into beauty. The French might call it a je ne sais quois, but I like to think it is a light that burns the plaid maiden into beauty.

What escapes my understanding is why so many well written books or poems, so many well designed men and women are unable to drive us to that mute contemplation that fills one's heart with tears, in spite of being so aesthetically correct. We do admire the workmanship of nature in this exemplary specimens, but we stay neutral. Beauty as much as righteousness brings about a strong reaction, we either feel love, either envy or rage or hate and anger.

There is a poem by Sant Tukaram that holds, in one stanza, a hint:
"No ornaments
Survive
A crucible.
Fire reveals
Only molten
Gold."
Pretty, handsome, well written poem are just ornaments, Beauty is Gold.