Masks

These tales of old disguisings, are they not

Strange myths of souls that found themselves among

Unwonted folk that spake a hostile tongue,

Some soul from all the rest who'd not forgot

The star-span acres of a former lot

Where boundless mid the clouds his course he swung,

Or carnate with his elder brothers sung

E'er ballad makers lisped of Camelot?

Old singers half-forgetful of their tunes,

Old painters colour-blind come back once more,

Old poets skilless in the wind-heart runes,

Old wizards lacking in their wonder-lore:

All they that with strange sadness in their eyes

Ponder in silence o'er earth's queynt devyse?