Passion Flowers (Watson)/The Revealer

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The Revealer.
How fair she looks, with that sweet calm
 Upon her brow; upon her face
The look of peace it has not known
 Before. There is a wondrous grace
New-born to her. She lived a life
Of constant, unimportant strife
In homely things, no hero deeds
 Filled up its span. Is she the same?
How fair she was we did not know,
 'Till Death, the greater Revealer, came.

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