Beauty's Blemish

You are as young, O lady mine,
   As ere you were in olden days,
Your lips are red, your blue eyes shine,
   And still you have your girlish ways.
I hate to think what years have flown
Since first I praised these things, mine own.

          *     *     *

Your frocks still have that youthful cut,
   Garbing a svelte form, slim and flat.
You should be spreading, darling but
   Your middle-age has brought no fat.
Indeed, you sometimes seem at nights
A flapper, seen in certain lights.

My fond eyes have surveyed you, sweet,
   Thro' all these years and found no fault.
Your lustrous hair, your tiny feet
   Are still perfection.  Yet a halt
In my high praise wakes sudden fears:
You're growing old behind the ears!

          *     *     *

Yet, even then, I'd not repine
   If that grey matter which should fill
That pretty head, O lady mine,
   Gained age, 'twere compensation still;
And I'd forgive the ravening years,
If you'd mature above the ears.