The gloss is fading from your hair, <br />The glamour from your brow; <br />The light your eyes were wont to wear <br />Attracts no gazer now. <br />O'er sunny forehead, smiling lips, <br />And cheeks of rosy roundness, slips <br />A cruel, premature eclipse, <br />Time should not yet allow. <br /> <br />I think of one whose homestead lies <br />A stone's-throw from your own, <br />Who, spite of sorrow in her eyes, <br />Hath but more comely grown; <br />Who, robbed while scarce a four-year's bride, <br />Of him, her husband, joy and pride, <br />Whilst yours still labours at your side, <br />Is lovely, though alone. <br /> <br />For know, 'tis not from loss of state, <br />Nor e'en from loved one's death, <br />Nor any stroke of Time or Fate, <br />That true grace suffereth: <br />That virtue hath a secret charm, <br />Age cannot wither, sorrow harm, <br />Which keepeth even beauty warm <br />After surcease of breath. <br /> <br />Know, furthermore, that wants debased, <br />Void restlessness in crime, <br />Have almost wholly now defaced <br />What had been spared by Time; <br />That, soul shut in, while sense ajar, <br />Joys which, not mending nature, mar, <br />Entered, and left you what you are- <br />A ruin-ere your prime!<br /><br />Alfred Austin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/messalina-2/
