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Beneath a Placid Brow.
Beneath a placid brow,
And tear-unstained cheek,
To bear as I do now
A heart that well could break;
To simulate a smile
Amid the wrecks of grief,—
To herd among the vile,
And therein seek relief,—
For the bitterness of thought.
Were joyance dearly bought.
When will man learn to bear
His heart nailed on his breast,
With all its lines of care
In nakedness confessed?—
Why, in this solemn mask
Of passion-wasted life,
Will no one dare the task,
To speak his sorrows rife?—
Will no one bravely tell,
His bosom is a hell?
