Mar.
Nay, let me be! A mirror just like this,
At first with glazy muffle, as o’erbreathed
By living lips; then, like the pictures which
It showed in linked procession, softly clearing
And lastly luminant as polished steel.
I saw my life in sum. First I appeared
As child in light of roses tender-ambient
Of ever redder, ever darker hue.
But then the features, though my own, were strange