On the other side of the glass - A face I ought to know; Half-fleshed in familiarity, Touched with a strangeness that won't go Away, but steals assurance from the heart, And cheats all feeling safety from the mind; As opaque to examination As the glass it lies behind.

By it gather those other shades, With kindness in their claws, Held still in eyes of emptiness, Rushing on Escher wings, that - torn Across the page of darkness - fill the air In joyous terror, as remembrance sings. Curtains drawn before that face, the room Darkens, and is full of wings.
 
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