The Mystic Face

I never try to probe the sky's blue span,

I never look too deep into the sea

But the dim face of a tragedian

Looks out at me.

Fessica Powers

Neither the night nor day can find a place

Where I have not been shaken with surprise

At the white beauty of a holy face

And two great lonely eyes.

Fessica Powers

A WORD

He sees shod feet, silk socks, a length of trouser,

A shirt, a tie, and feels the fitted collar;

Is suddenly aware of spectacles,

And then regards his hands. He looks about him-

Sees table, chairs, his books, and all these things

At once become inexplicable and strange.

The thing he is, is strange, the world without-

Nothing of which to say, This, then, I know.

Bewildered and afraid, he turns his mind

Inside-out like a purse, and searches there

For the right talisman, the golden key;