Артур Саймонс (Симонс) (Arthur William Symons)

Time and Beauty

Your hair, that burning gold
Naked might not behold,
Shall tarnish, and your skin
Wrinkle its satin in.
And your lips, like a rose,
Uncolour and unclose;
Yet, because you are made
Of beauty, not arrayed
In beauty's covering.
Hold Time for a vain thing.
Time shall bid youth let fall
Its colours one and all,
And wither in chill air
Bright blood and burning hair;
When these are overpast.
The bones of beauty last.