With the face goes a mirror As with the mind a world. Likeness tells the doubting eye That strangeness is not strange. At an early hour and knowledge Identity not yet familiar Looks back upon itself from later, And seems itself. To-day seems now. With reality-to-be goes time. With the mind goes a world. Wit the heart goes a weather. With the face goes a mirror As with the body a fear. Young self goes staring to the wall Where dumb futurity speaks calm, And between then and then Forebeing grows of age. The mirror mixes with the eye. Soon will it be the very eye. Soon will the eye that was The very mirror be. Death, the final image, will shine Transparently not otherwise Than as the dark sun described With such faint brightnesses.
— Laura (Riding) Jackson
