I LOOK INTO MY GLASS

Thomas Hardy 1840-1928

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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