THE SONG OF THE MASK by GERTRUDE B. GUNDERSON

In primal years through infancy of man,
He sneaked behind me when he wished to hide
His cowardice—or strut in borrowed front
Before the crowds, and thus enhance his pride.

For inhibitions disappeared behind a guard
That covered up his eyes—and mouth as well,
So that the jelly of his face should not expose
His weaknesses and bootless fears foretell.

@3Oh, the joy of release from the fear of self!
For a mask of bluster or of wild bravado,
Will display to the herd a man transformed—
A change from a coward to a desperado.@1

Behind me, he was inaccessible
To poisoned arrows devilishly hurled;
For who would shoot a missile at indifference
That looks with cool contempt upon the world?

The primitive used ritual in donning me,
And none must carelessly approach the rite
If craving magic or the help of gods,
To hold him scatheless in the public sight.

So needful have I grown to human-kind—
Although transmuted in the race advance—
They wear me now—controlling their demeanor
To suit the exigencies of the circumstance.

@3Oh, a boasting tone or a mask of brag,
May obtain a fortune or win a cause—
As a daring shield against a valiant foe,
Or a fine conceit for the crowd's applause.@1

And culture, now, demands your feelings masked
Against man's galling estimate, so tragic;
There may be some too primitive for this,
But none too wise to covet help of magic.

@3Oh, the mask of mirth when your heart is dead,
Or the mask of peace when your soul's on fire,
Calls for grim control or the help of gods,
If your face reveal neither pain nor ire.

But as pride of man is his sentinel,
I am all–essential to winning his goal—
Yet, defeat to him would be lesser grief
Than the mask removed from his naked soul.@1

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