Wives in the Sere

I

NEVER a careworn wife but shows, If a joy suffuse her, Something beautiful to those Patient to peruse her, Some one charm the world unknows Precious to a muser, Haply what, ere years were foes, Moved her mate to choose her.

II

But, be it a hint of rose That an instant hues her, Or some early light or pose Wherewith thought renews her— Seen by him at full, ere woes Practised to abuse her— Sparely comes it, swiftly goes, Time again subdues her.