338 I know that He exists. Somewhere—in Silence— He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes. 'Tis an instant's play. 'Tis a fond Ambush— Just to make Bliss Earn her own surprise! But—should the play Prove piercing earnest— Should the glee—glaze— In Death's—stiff—stare— Would not the fun Look too expensive! Would not the jest— Have crawled too far!