To a Young Aviator

When you go up to die Some not far distant day, I wonder will you try To tear your mask away, And look life in the eyes For once without disguise?

Behind your mask may hide What treacherous, covered fires ! What hidden, torturing pride! What sorrows, what desires! Whatever there may be There will be none to see.

Yet I think when you meet Death coming through the skies, Calmly his face you'll greet. Coldly, without surprise ; Then die without a moan, Still masked although alone.