Winter 1950 • Vol. XII No. 1 PoetryJanuary 1, 1950 |

The Mirror

Nothing could this man dismay. He held a mirror in his hand: A small one, but it looked away As time does over sleeping land. It showed him worse things coming yet; So all our present, by compare, Was only bitter, was Tibet, To those ice absolutes of air. He saw the poles beyond whose white Two tireless eyes gazed here at him; And had been gazing since the night Before creation's interim; And still would gaze when time again Slept in eternity's slow arms; That hushed the seas, and muffled men Against great waves and wars' alarms. Yet no man now. Each is his own. He smiled; he pocketed the glass. Serenity in him alone Lives on and on, alas, alas.

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Let Me Listen

By Mark Van Doren

Nothing could this man dismay. He held a mirror in his hand: A small one, but it looked away As time does over sleeping land. It showed him worse things […]

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