Under The Surface

AY, smile as you will, with your saintly face!
But I know the line
Of your guard is as weak as a maze of lace:
You may give no sign-
And the devil is never far to seek,
And a rotten peach has a lovely cheek.

As they come in the stream, I say to you:
The lives we jostle are none of them true.
Who seeks with a lamp and glass may find
A nature of honor from core to rind;
But woe to the heart that is formed so true:
It may not reck, and it still must rue
The perjured lip and the bleeding vow.
God keep it blind to the things we know-
To the ghastly scars for the leech's eyes
And the occult lore of the worldly wise.