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AFTERNOON
WHEN in thy glass thou studiest thy face, | |
| Not long, nor yet not seldom, half repelled | |
| And half attracted; when thou hast beheld | |
| Of Time’s slow ravages the crumbling trace, | |
| (Deciphered now with many an interspace | 5 |
| The characters erewhile that Beauty spelled), | |
| And in thy throat a choking fear hath swelled | |
| Of Love, grown cold, eluding thy embrace: | |
| Couldst thou but read my gaze of tenderness— | |
| Affection fused with pity—precious tears | 10 |
| Would bring relief to thy unjust distress; | |
| Thy visage, even as it to me appears, | |
| Would seem to thee transfigured; thou wouldst bless | |
| Me, who am also, Dearest! scarred with years. | |
| |
EVENING
AGE cannot wither her whom not gray hairs | 15 |
| Nor furrowed cheeks have made the thrall of Time; | |
| For Spring lies hidden under Winter’s rime, | |
| And violets know the victory is theirs. | |
| Even so the corn of Egypt, unawares, | |
| Proud Nilus shelters with engulfing slime; | 20 |
| So Etna’s hardening crust a more sublime | |
| Volley of pent-up fires at last prepares. | |
| O face yet fair, if paler, and serene | |
| With sense of duty done without complaint! | |
| O venerable crown!—a living green, | 25 |
| Strength to the weak, and courage to the faint— | |
| Thy bleaching locks, thy wrinkles, have but been | |
| Fresh beads upon the rosary of a saint! | |
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