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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.