I Have To Make A Soul For One

I have to make a soul for one
Who lost his soul in childhood's hour.
And I'm not sure—not really sure—
If I have power.
I don't know whether souls are made
With laughter or with faith or pain
But though I fail a thousand times,
I'll try again.

Through the Museum
I stroll, and see
Goblets fashioned in Arcady,
Spears from the Islands, and robes from Tyre—
Gew-gaws of pomp and of old desire.
On one of the walls
A looking glass
Catches my image as I pass.
Austerely from mirrored eyes, I see
The soul of the past look out at me.