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THE MASK.
I.
I HAVE a smiling face, she said,
I have a jest for all I meet;
I have a garland for my head,
And all its flowers are sweet,—
And so you call me gay, she said.
II.
Grief taught to me this smile, she said,
And Wrong did teach this jesting bold;
These flowers were plucked from garden-bed
While a death-chime was tolled—
And what now will you say?—she said.
III.
Behind no prison-grate, she said,
Which slurs the sunshine half a mile,
Are captives so uncomforted,
As souls behind a smile.
God's pity let us pray, she said.
IV.
I know my face is bright, she said,—
