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Thomas Hardy - Moments Of Vision
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That mirror 
Which makes of men a transparency, 
Who holds that mirror 
And bids us such a breast-bare spectacle see 
Of you and me?

That mirror 
Whose magic penetrates like a dart, 
Who lifts that mirror 
And throws our mind back on us, and our heart, 
until we start?

That mirror 
Works well in these night hours of ache; 
Why in that mirror 
Are tincts we never see ourselves once take 
When the world is awake?

That mirror 
Can test each mortal when unaware; 
Yea, that strange mirror 
May catch his last thoughts, whole life foul or fair, 
Glassing it — where?
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