As sometimes in a dead man's face,
⁠To those that watch it more and more,
⁠A likeness hardly seen before
Comes out—to some one of his race:

So, dearest, now thy brows are cold,
⁠I see thee what thou art, and know
⁠Thy likeness to the wise below,
Thy kindred with the great of old.

But there is more than I can see,
⁠And what I see I leave unsaid,
⁠Nor speak it, knowing Death has made
His darkness beautiful with thee.