The Poetry Corner

Aspetto Reale

By Maurice Henry Hewlett

That hour when thou and Grief were first acquainted Thou wrotest, "Come, for I have lookt on death." Piteous I held my indeterminate breath And sought thee out, and saw how he had painted Thine eyes with rings of black; yet never fainted Thy radiant immortality underneath Such stress of dark; but then, as one that saith, "I know Love liveth," sat on by death untainted. O to whom Grief too poignant was and dry To sow in thee a fountain crop of tears! O youth, O pride, set too remote and high For touch of solace that gives grace to men! Thy life must be our death, thy hopes our fears: We weep, thou lookest strangely--we know thee then!