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Poem	SONNET LXXXII. Dicemi spesso il mio fidato speglio. HE AWAKES TO A CONVICTION OF THE NEAR APPROACH OF DEATH. My faithful mirror oft to me has told—My weary spirit and my shrivell'd skinMy failing powers to prove it all begin—"Deceive thyself no longer, thou art old."Man is in all by Nature best controll'd,And if with her we struggle, time creeps in;At the sad truth, on fire as waters win,A long and heavy sleep is off me roll'd;And I see clearly our vain life depart,That more than once our being cannot be:Her voice sounds ever in my inmost heart.Who now from her fair earthly frame is free:[Pg 313]She walk'd the world so peerless and alone,Its fame and lustre all with her are flown. Macgregor. The mirror'd friend—my changing form hath read.My every power's incipient decay—My wearied soul—alike, in warning say"Thyself no more deceive, thy youth hath fled."'Tis ever best to be by Nature led,We strive with her, and Death makes us his prey;At that dread thought, as flames the waters stay,The dream is gone my life hath sadly fed.I wake to feel how soon existence flies:Once known, 'tis gone, and never to return.Still vibrates in my heart the thrilling toneOf her, who now her beauteous shrine defies:But she, who here to rival, none could learn,Hath robb'd her sex, and with its fame hath flown. Wollaston.
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