The Mask

If I dared leave this smile, she said, And take a moan upon my mouth, And tie a cypress round my head, And let my tears run smooth,— It were the happier way, she said.

And since that must not be, she said, I fain your bitter world would leave. How calmly, calmly, smile the Dead, Who do not, therefore, grieve! The yea of Heaven is yea, she said.

But in your bitter world, she said, Face-joy's a costly mask to wear, And bought with pangs long nourishèd And rounded to despair. Grief's earnest makes life's play, she said.