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.

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