Thomas Hardy — The Masked Face

I found me in a great surging space,         At either end a door, And I said: "What is this giddying place,         With no firm-fixed floor,         That I knew not of before?"         "It is Life," said a mask-clad face. I asked: "But how do I come here,         Who never wished to come; Can the light and air be made more clear,         The floor more quietsome,         And the doors set wide? They numb         Fast-locked, and fill with fear." The mask put on a bleak smile then,         And said, "O vassal-wight, There once complained a goosequill pen         To the scribe of the Infinite         Of the words it had to write         Because they were past its ken."