I look at my reflection in the mirror
I see a repetition of things I'm proud of
A stanza of countless lines of horror
That made me face the things I'm afraid of ...
LADY, in thy proud eyes
There is a weary look,
As if the spirit we know through them
Were daunted with rebuke
To think that the heart of man henceforth
Is read like a read book.
Lady, in thy lifted face
The solitude is sore;
... Read complete poem