Prologue

As One who, in a strange and far Country,
In presence of his future Bride may be,
That keeps the secret of her face concealed,
Until, as Wife, the Maiden stands revealed:
And who doth make blind guesses at the face;
Its wealth of nature and its gifts of grace:
Much marvelling if the form beneath the folds
Be like the picture that at heart he holds:
And who, as chance befall, doth furtively
Feel the hid features that he may not see —
Trying to gather, at a Lover's touch,
The least of all he longs to know so much:
Even thus, before the Next World's face I stand.
And o'er its clouded features pass my hand;
Groping to get where mortal sight doth fail,
Some inkling of the face behind the Veil!
It is the voice of Vision in the night:
I learned in darkness what I speak in light.
Perchance such ne'er attains the perfect True
And yet may utter meaning for the few,
As sandiest desert wastes reflect afar
Light from our Sun to some benighted Star!