Should lanterns shine， the holy face，

　　Caught in an octagon of unaccustomed light，

　　Would wither¹ up， an any boy of love

　　Look twice before he fell from grace.

　　The features in their private dark

　　Are formed of flesh， but let the false day come

　　And from her lips the faded pigments² fall，

　　The mummy cloths expose an ancient breast.

　　I have been told to reason by the heart，

　　But heart， like head， leads helplessly；

　　I have been told to reason by the pulse，

　　And， when it quickens， alter the actions' pace

　　Till field and roof lie level and the same

　　So fast I move defying time， the quiet gentleman

　　Whose beard wags in Egyptian wind.

　　I have heard may years of telling，

　　And many years should see some change.

　　The ball I threw while playing in the park

　　Has not yet reached the ground.