In olden times the players on the stage

Wore masks to suits their parts of joy or rage.

Though sorrow lined the mimer's visage lean,

The grinning paper mask was only seen.

And though laughter curved the actor's face

The mask was marked with passions base,

And though the face was gnarled with bitter hate,

The mask with laughter gay defied both Death and Fate.

My best friend's inner thoughts are always hid

Behind his joyous laughter and his glance.

Another secret train of thought goes on

Behind the curve of mouth and flash of lid.

And all my thoughts about philosophy

And life, and love, and all the men I know,

I keep inside nor hint their presence there

Behind the mask that is the face of me.

That mask conceals the quick opinion formed,

The measure taken of the character of man,

The hate that springs at instinct's subtle call,

Though smiling lips confirm a handclasp warm.

Perhaps for most of us

It would be just as well

To keep our thoughts behind a mask

And never tell.