Wives in the Sere
Never a careworn wife but shows,If a joy suffuse her,Something beautiful to thosePatient to peruse her,Some one charm the world unknowsPrecious to a muser,Haply what, ere years were foes,Moved her mate to choose her.
But, be it a hint of roseThat an instant hues her,Or some early light or poseWherewith thought renews her—Seen by him at full, ere woesPractised to abuse her—Sparely comes it, swiftly goes,Time again subdues her.
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