In an old book I found her face <br />Writ by a dead man long ago- <br />I found, and then I lost the place; <br />So nothing but her face I know, <br />And her soft name writ fair below. <br /> <br />Even if she lived I cannot learn, <br />Or but a dead man's dream she were; <br />Page after yellow page I turn, <br />But cannot come again to her, <br />Although I know she must be there. <br /> <br />On other books of other men, <br />Far in the night, year-long, I pore, <br />Hoping to find her face again, <br />Too fair a face to see no more- <br />And 'twas so soft a name she bore. <br /> <br />Sometimes I think the book was Youth, <br />And the dead man that wrote it I, <br />The face was Beauty, the name Truth- <br />And thus, with an unseeing eye, <br />I pass the long-sought image by.<br /><br />Richard Le Gallienne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-face-in-a-book/
