Classic Poem

 “The dead repose,” you say?
“The lines on brow and cheek are smoothed away”—
But then those lines meant life ,
 For this means strife.

They meant the growing in love, the growing in grace,
 They engraved life's history on the face:
Remove them—let them fade and die—
 You steal as well the personality.

You steal the self—you “smooth away” the thing
 That long life, struggling life, alone can bring,
You blur the sacred lessons of the years,
 Learnt doubtless, some, through grief and tears.

“Repose”—I grant you this, but life is dear,
 Nought else we know of here:
To see the “lines” “smoothed out,” when fails the breath,
 To me brings horror and accentuates death.