To meet almost as strangers, who have been

Such lovers in the past! no glad delight

To thrill our senses, till the wrong seems right,

For very joy—I wonder will your mien

Be happy? it seems years since I have seen

You smiling! I shall take you to the light,

And trace new lines upon your brow, and right

Above them may be some gray hairs, your clean

Strong profile, will it look the very same?

Are your hands wrinkled? Oh! my perfect hands!

Be not less lovely now that passion stands

Aloof, and dare not kiss you into flame—

I could not bear it! Time can never blight

Such marvels, so divinely slim and white.