Oh could I raise the darken’d veil, Which hides my future life from me, Could unborn ages slowly sail, Before my view—and could I see My every action painted there, To cast one look I would not dare. There poverty and grief might stand, And dark Despair’s corroding hand, Would make me seek the lonely tomb To slumber in its endless gloom. Then let me never cast a look, Within Fate’s fix’d mysterious book.
You may also enjoy reading Hawthorne's short story, a parable: The Minister's Black Veil
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