Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/83

 Y 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.