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I
I ’LL call thy frown a headsman, passing grim, | |
| Walking before some wretch foredoomed to death, | |
| Who counts the pantings of his own hard breath, | |
| Wondering how heart can beat, or stead-fast limb | |
| Bear its sad burden to life’s awful brim. | 5 |
| I ’ll call thy smile a priest, who slowly sayeth | |
| Soft words of comfort, as the sinner strayeth | |
| Away in thought; or sings a holy hymn, | |
| Full of rich promise, as he walks behind | |
| The fatal axe with face of goodly cheer, | 10 |
| And kind inclinings of his saintly ear. | |
| So, love, thou seest in smiles, or looks unkind, | |
| Some taste of sweet philosophy I find, | |
| That seasons all things in our little sphere. | |
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II
Why shall I chide the hand of wilful Time | 15 |
| When he assaults thy wondrous store of charms? | |
| Why charge the gray-beard with a wanton crime? | |
| Or strive to daunt him with my shrill alarms? | |
| Or seek to lull him with a silly rhyme: | |
| So he, forgetful, pause upon his arms, | 20 |
| And leave thy beauties in their noble prime, | |
| The sole survivors of his grievous harms? | |
| Alas! my love, though I ’ll indeed bemoan | |
| The fatal ruin of thy majesty; | |
| Yet I ’ll remember that to Time alone | 25 |
| I owed thy birth, thy charms’ maturity, | |
| Thy crowning love with which he vested me, | |
| Nor can reclaim, though all the rest be flown. | |
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