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Thomas Hardy - The Masked Face
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I found me in a great surging space,
     At either end a door,
   And I said: "What is this giddying place,
     With no firm-fixéd floor,
     That I knew not of before?"
     "It is Life," said a mask-clad face.
   I asked: "But how do I come here,
     Who never wished to come;
   Can the light and air be made more clear,
    The floor more quietsome,
    And the doors set wide? They numb
    Fast-locked, and fill with fear."

  The mask put on a bleak smile then,
    And said, "O vassal-wight,
  There once complained a goosequill pen
    To the scribe of the Infinite
    Of the words it had to write
    Because they were past its ken."
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