In fissured countenance <br />Bleak, staring eyes <br />Heedless of the wormy hands a'crawl <br />Upon the desert counterpane. <br /> <br />Yet love can stroke the fissured brow, <br />Love can kiss the staring eyes, <br />Love can hold the care-worn hands <br />And love can see and understand and love.<br /><br />Mill Field<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/gen-age/
