Thomas Hardy: I Look into My Glass



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.

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