ANATOMY

By chance my fingers, resting on my face,

Stayed suddenly where in its orbit shone

The lamp of all things beautiful; then on,

Following more heedfully, did softly trace

Each arch and prominence and hollow place

That shall revealed be when all else is gone —

Warmth, colour, roundness — to oblivion,

And nothing left but darkness and disgrace.

Life like a moment passed seemed then to be;

A transient dream this raiment that it wore;

While spelled my hand out its mortality

Made certain all that had seemed doubt before:

Proved — O how vaguely, yet how lucidly!—

How much death does; and yet can do no more.