Poems (Piatt)/Volume 2/Meeting an Old Mirror
MEETING AN OLD MIRROR.
Beloved of beautiful and eager eyes, It had its honours from the guests below;But it went somewhat nearer to the skies As it grew old, you know.
Still, from the gilded splendour of the day That Vanity sees shining in its place,I turned with yearning for the pleased, still way It used to hold my face.
Far up the stair and shunned of faded eyes I found the thing that I had loved before:It took my face, grew dead-white with surprise, Held it—then saw no more!
Suddenly blinded: for the Mirror shed Tears for dim hair, it praised to suns gone by,And One to whom once of it I gaily said, "My rival—dear as I!"
Companions, in our time, of pleasant lights, I thought, and music and rich foreign blooms,What shall we find for those fair evening-sights In lonesome upper rooms?
The misty Mirror showed a calm reproof, Receiving there a higher company,In dust and empty silence near the roof, Than we were wont to see.
Its pride in jewelled reverence was gone, And quiet tenderness was in its place,That took the sweet stars, as they glimmered on Through chill clouds, to its grace.