Behind the Arras: A Book of the Unseen

by Bliss Carman


 

In the Wings


 

THE play is Life; and this round earth,
The narrow stage whereon
We act before an audience
Of actors dead and gone.

There is a figure in the wings

5

That never goes away,
And though I cannot see his face,
I shudder while I play.

His shadow looms behind me here,
Or capers at my side;

10

And when I mouth my lines in dread,
Those scornful lips deride.

Sometimes a hooting laugh breaks out,
And startles me alone;
While all my fellows, wondering

15

At my stage-fright, play on.

I fear that when my Exit comes,
I shall encounter there,
Stronger than fate, or time, or love,.
And sterner than despair,

20
The Final Critic of the craft,
As stage tradition tells;
And yet—perhaps 't will only be
The jester with his bells.