Secret Poem by Ruth Manning-Sanders

Come, then, this mighty secret you are clasping
Tight to your breast encased in leaden woe—
Who bid you take your journey laden so ?
Who fastened down the lock there' s no unhasping ?

What not yourself can peep within the cover
For terror of the ugliness below ?
Only with ashen cheeks for ever go
Lonely, lest curious eyes the thing discover ?

Set down the box, here where your comrades play.
Wrench the old key round in its bed of rust;
Open the lid,—and lo a little dust
Which a light breath of laughter blows away.