To sight oneself in mirrors might not be
Designed to satisfy.
Perhaps we cannot quite condemn
Those who self-seek, with their dutiful
Staring to insanity:
Perhaps not true,
Not that they lust for Vanity;
But rather, that this Vanity wants them.
Supposing that there’s life in waters, glass,
Desiring to be seen,
That image hurting to have been
Instead of being a gleam on burnished brass.
Narcissus dwelt in sympathy
For his poor image, dutiful
To his poor mirror, its unseeing woe;
He wore himself to madness for its cause;
But Narcissus was so beautiful,
And the waters loved him so.