WHEN Helen first saw wrinkles in her face <br />(’T was when some fifty long had settled there <br />And intermarried and branch’d off awide) <br />She threw herself upon her couch and wept: <br />On this side hung her head, and over that <br />Listlessly she let fall the faithless brass <br />That made the men as faithless. <br />But when you <br />Found them, or fancied them, and would not hear <br />That they were only vestiges of smiles, <br />Or the impression of some amorous hair <br />Astray from cloister’d curls and roseate band, <br />Which had been lying there all night perhaps <br />Upon a skin so soft, “No, no,” you said, <br />“Sure, they are coming, yes, are come, are here: <br />Well, and what matters it, while thou art too!”<br /><br />Walter Savage Landor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wrinkles-11/
