Marriage, or the Gist of Swedenborg
The masks that pass for you and me
Are not the souls of accuracy.
They often seem to represent
A virtuous or good intent;
Whereas we know our motives are
Simpler than that and worse by far:
To bend each other to our wills,
And come off master though it kills.
And yet these masks from day to day
Present an unctuous, noble play,
With, "By your leave," or, "How doth speed
Your most ill health? your heart's best need?"
Or, "Nay, my lord, I'll do my task,"
Or, "Pray, good lady, what dost ask?"
So each two persons in his self
Conceals, and dodges like an elf
From berry-bush to poison-tree:
I for my grandeur, you for me.
Structure
18 lines · 3 stanzas