In Memoriam (Tennyson)/Canto 72
lxxii.
As sometimes in a dead man's face,
To those that watch it more and more,
A likeness hardly seen before
Comes out—to some one of his race:
So, dearest, now thy brows are cold,
I see thee what thou art, and know
Thy likeness to the wise below,
Thy kindred with the great of old.
But there is more than I can see,
And what I see I leave unsaid,
Nor speak it, knowing Death has made
His darkness beautiful with thee.