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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.
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