Look in my
face; my name is Might-have-been;
I am also called
No-more, Too-late, Farewell;
Unto thine ear I
hold the dead-sea shell
Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet
between;
Unto thine eyes the glass where that is
seen
Which had Life's
form and Love's, but by my spell
Is now a shaken
shadow intolerable,
Of ultimate things unuttered the frail
screen.
Mark me, how still I am! But should there
dart
One moment through thy soul
the soft surprise
Of that winged Peace which
lulls the breath of sighs,--
Then shalt thou see me smile, and turn apart
Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart
Sleepless with cold
commemorative eyes.
