© 2018 by Samantha Mack

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Canto LXXIV




As sometimes in a dead man's face,    To those that watch it more and more,    A likeness, hardly seen before, Comes out—to some one of his race:


So, dearest, now thy brows are cold,    I see thee what thou art, and know    Thy likeness to the wise below, Thy kindred with the great of old.


But there is more than I can see,    And what I see I leave unsaid,    Nor speak it, knowing Death has made His darkness beautiful with thee.


-Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A. H. H., Canto LXXIV