English poem
TO.......
by Thomas Moore
That wrinkle, when first I espied it, At once put my heart out of pain; Till the eye, that was glowing beside it, Disturbed my ideas again.
Thou art just in the twilight at present, When woman's declension begins; When, fading from all that is pleasant, She bids a good night to her sins.
Yet thou still art so lovely to me, I would sooner, my exquisite mother! Repose in the sunset of thee, Than bask in the noon of another.