Durable is flesh when young, Gives the stricken brain no tongue, Hides the thumb-mark on the throat, As a mask, declines to note The weight of trooping nights and days, Converting dust to pride and praise. But as the shape of strength wears thin, The covering cries what lies within; A frown, the posture of the head Reveal the battle and its dead; While what was veiled in ease and grace, Now stares the stranger in the face, Who passing, hears the shrunken shell Discourse on all it would not tell. |