When you shall see me lined by tool of Time, <br />My lauded beauties carried off from me, <br />My eyes no longer stars as in their prime, <br />My name forgot of Maiden Fair and Free; <br /> <br />When in your being heart concedes to mind, <br />And judgment, though you scarce its process know, <br />Recalls the excellencies I once enshrined, <br />And you are irked that they have withered so: <br /> <br />Remembering that with me lies not the blame, <br />That Sportsman Time but rears his brood to kill, <br />Knowing me in my soul the very same— <br />One who would die to spare you touch of ill!— <br />Will you not grant to old affection’s claim <br />The hand of friendship down Life’s sunless hill?<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/she-to-him-i/
