HARDLY ever, now, has a human face
the baffling light or the
strange still gleam of the gods
within it, upon it.
Even from the face of the children,
now,
that spangled
glisten is gone, that at-oneness without after-
thought,
and they
are bridled with cunning, and bitted
with knowledge of things that shall never be
admitted,
even the
fact of birth: even little children.
Holbein and Titian and Tintoret could never paint faces,
now:
because those
faces were windows to the strange horizons, even
Henry VIII.;
whereas faces now are only
human grimaces,
with
eyes like the interiors of stuffy rooms, furnished.