Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been;
         I am also call'd No-more, Too-late, Farewell;
         Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell
     Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between;
     Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen
         Which had Life's form and Love's, but by my spell
         Is now a shaken shadow intolerable,
     Of ultimate things unutter'd the frail screen.

     Mark me, how still I am! But should there dart
       One moment through thy soul the soft surprise
       Of that wing'd Peace which lulls the breath of sighs,--
   Then shalt thou see me smile, and turn apart
   Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart
       Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes.