Classic Poem

put off your faces, Death: for day is over
(and such a day as must remember he
who watched unhands describe what mimicry,

with angry seasalt and indignant clover
marrying to themselves Life's animals)

but not darkness shall quite outmarch forever
—and I perceive, within transparent walls
how several smoothly gesturing stars are clever
to persuade even silence: therefore wonder

opens a gate; the prisoner dawn embraces

hugely some few most rare perfectly dear
(and worlds whirl beyond worlds: immortal yonder
collidingly absorbs eternal near)

day being come, Love, put on your faces