That mirror

   Which makes of men a transparency,

      Who holds that mirror

And bids us such a breast-bare spectacle see

      Of you and me?

      That mirror

   Whose magic penetrates like a dart,

      Who lifts that mirror

And throws our mind back on us, and our heart,

      Until we start?

      That mirror

   Works well in these night hours of ache;

      Why in that mirror

Are tincts we never see ourselves once take

      When the world is awake?

      That mirror

   Can test each mortal when unaware;

      Yea, that strange mirror

May catch his last thoughts, whole life foul or fair,

      Glassing it—where?