Swallowed*

I look into the mirror
To gaze at my own face
And behold within a sadness
That seems devoid of grace.

Here in that aging visage
There appears to me
An aching haunt most awful
In mine own eyes to see.

I wonder whether others
Who look into my eyes
See in them what I do
And are taken by surprise.

If you ask me I may tell you
The reason for the pain
But it’s better to be quiet
As the hush that follows rain.

Let come what ‘ere may come
And let be what ‘ere may be
Let blindness overtake me
By these eyes too dull to see.

Years will come as swelling tide
And I will lay me down in sorrow
But look no longer in my face
When I am swallowed by the morrow.

*(Some poems insist on being penned in Victorian English)