APPARELLED in a mask of joy till now, I knew thee not. Asleep, I see thy face More simply. Sorrow's leisure lets me trace The nicer lines. Thy sealed lids, thy brow, Thy lasting posture, purposes avow; In thy spent form resides a moveless grace. A pageant was thy life, and in its place I find a truth to feed and to endow My heart. Thy wonted mask of joy belied The meaning death's bare attitude makes clear. From living gesture thought went often wide, And I was poor interpreter; but here, Where it would seem our thoughts anew divide, The steady silence draws thy spirit near. |