Meditações - But Time, to make me grieve, Part steals, lets part abide

I look into my glass,

  And view my wasting skin,

And say, “Would God it came to pass

  My heart had shrunk as thin!”

 

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.

 

Thomas Hardy