A Question

A Question.
Mabel Mahin
191.2

I study the faces of old women
And ask myself a question, new and strange.
To my own features will there come a change?
That look of meek submission? Am I, then,
No different from the others? And again,
I ask, have I no power to arrange
The course of mine own life? Must I exchange
My outlook on this world for theirs? What gain
If I aspire and hope?
Perchance they, too,
Have hoped and seen their dreams fade in the air;
Perchance they, too, have loved as now I do,
And lost that love which seemed to them so fair.
Shall I, at last, when all my struggles cease,
Wear not a crown but just a mask of peace?