Thomas Hardy (18401928)
[Wessex Poems and Other Verses, 1898]
³I Look into my Glass²
I look into my glass,
And view my wasting skin,
And say, ³Would God it came to pass
My heart had shrunk as thin!²
For then, I, undistrest
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.
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