I look into my glass,
And view my wasting skin,
And say , “Would God it came to pass
My heart had shrunk as thin!”
For then, I, undistressed
By hearts grown cold to me,
Could lonely wait my endless rest
With equanimity
But Time, to make me grieve,
part steals, lets part abide;
And shakes this fragile frame at eve
With throbbings of noontide.
1898
