Applauding youths laughed with young prostitutes
And watched her perfect, half-clothed body sway;
Her voice was like the sound of blended flutes
Blown by black players upon a picnic day.
She sang and danced on gracefully and calm,
The light gauze hanging loose about her form;
To me she seemed a proudly-swaying palm
Grown lovelier for passing through a storm.
Upon her swarthy neck black shiny curls
Luxuriant fell; and tossing coins in praise,
The wine-flushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls,
Devoured her shape with eager, passionate gaze;
But looking at her falsely-smiling face,
I knew her self was not in that strange place.
So detached and cool she is
No motion e’er betrays
The secret life within her soul,
The anguish of her days.
She seems to look upon the world
With cold ironic eyes,
To spurn emotion’s fevered sway,
To scoff at tears and sighs.
But once a woman with a child
Passed by her on the street,
And once she heard from casual lips
A man’s name, bitter-sweet.
Such baffled yearning in her eyes,
Such pain upon her face!
I turned aside until the mask
Was slipped once more in place.
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 ;
Death is a beautiful white mask.
That slips over the face, when the moment comes,
To hide the happiness of the soul.