Classic Poem

Dim the light in your faces: be passionless in the room.
Snuffed are the tapers, and bitterly hang on the flowerless air:
See: and this is the image of her they will lay in the tomb;
Clear, and waxen, and cooled in the mass of her hair.

Quiet the tears in your voices: feel lightly, finger, for finger
In love: then see how like is the image, but lifelessly fashioned
And sightless, calm, unloving. Who is the Artist? Linger
And ponder whither has flitted his sitter impassioned.