Stand mute, self-centred, stern, and dream no more?
Down the pale cheek long lines of shadow slope,
Which years, and curious thought, and suffering give
—Thou hast foreknown the vanity of hope,
Forseen thy harvest, yet proceed’st to live....
Ere the long night, whose stillness brooks no star,
Match that funereal aspect with her pall,
I think, thou wilt have fathom’d life too far,
Have known too much—or else forgotten all.
The Guide of our dark steps a triple veil