Classic Poem

The skilful pilot from the windy prow
Watches far off the markings of the sea,
And knows, long-studied in its charactery,
What rocks, what shoals, what currents hide below.
This can the skilful pilot do, with brow
Serene and certain; but not so to me
That mouth, those eyes, a subtler mystery,
Yield up the secrets of the heart. I know,
Poring upon the soul-chart of your face,
That all my searching, all my skill are vain.
I do but follow on some broken trace,
And please myself with guessing. Joy concurs
With grief, but neither can the script explain,
So veiled and various are the characters.