He said he loved me! Then he called my hair <br /> Silk threads wherewith sly Cupid strings his bow, <br /> My cheek a rose leaf fallen on new snow; <br />And swore my round, full throat would bring despair <br />To Venus or to Psyche. <br /> <br /> Time and care <br /> Will fade these locks; the merry god, I know, <br /> Uses no grizzled cords upon his bow. <br />How will it be when I, no longer fair, <br /> Plead for his kiss with cheeks, whence long ago <br />The early snowflakes melted quite away, <br />The rose leaf died – and in whose sallow clay <br /> Lie the deep sunken tracks of life’s gaunt crow? <br /> <br />When this full throat shall wattle fold on fold, <br /> Like some ripe peach left drying on a wall, <br /> Or like a spent accordion, when all <br />Its music has exhaled – will love grow cold?<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-maiden-to-her-mirror/
