Let sudden bliss or grief, for one fleet moment, throw aside
The heart's closed door; its first—and strongest—impulse is to hide;
And by the very act or wish of hiding, it reveals
The fact that something stranger still its opening conceals!
A tiny grave may measure some life's longest hope,
And the influence vased therein keep his best nature up,—
And Faith may use this little line and measure to the skies;—
Ah, we can measure not by length, but depth, of Life's real size!
The heart's closed door; its first—and strongest—impulse is to hide;
And by the very act or wish of hiding, it reveals
The fact that something stranger still its opening conceals!
A tiny grave may measure some life's longest hope,
And the influence vased therein keep his best nature up,—
And Faith may use this little line and measure to the skies;—
Ah, we can measure not by length, but depth, of Life's real size!
Could we put feeling into words, the words must needs, would live,
And the whole world might tremble at the tale one life would give!
We mask and mantle thus, Life's Body, in its outer Robe,—
And if deformed or beautiful man's knowledge cannot probe.
Measure a life by acts! Write a Biography, you say,—
A man could not write his own life as it is, day by ay,
While actions lie in Motive's weird embrace and Silence holds
Its hand upon the very Heart of Life, no Tongue Life's tale unfolds!
And the whole world might tremble at the tale one life would give!
We mask and mantle thus, Life's Body, in its outer Robe,—
And if deformed or beautiful man's knowledge cannot probe.
Measure a life by acts! Write a Biography, you say,—
A man could not write his own life as it is, day by ay,
While actions lie in Motive's weird embrace and Silence holds
Its hand upon the very Heart of Life, no Tongue Life's tale unfolds!
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