Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By Wendell PhillipsGarrison

882 Post-Meridian

AFTERNOON

WHEN in thy glass thou studiest thy face,

Not long, nor yet not seldom, half repelled

And half attracted; when thou hast beheld

Of Time’s slow ravages the crumbling trace,

(Deciphered now with many an interspace

The characters erewhile that Beauty spelled),

And in thy throat a choking fear hath swelled

Of Love, grown cold, eluding thy embrace:

Couldst thou but read my gaze of tenderness—

Affection fused with pity—precious tears

Would bring relief to thy unjust distress;

Thy visage, even as it to me appears,

Would seem to thee transfigured; thou wouldst bless

Me, who am also, Dearest! scarred with years.

EVENING

AGE cannot wither her whom not gray hairs

Nor furrowed cheeks have made the thrall of Time;

For Spring lies hidden under Winter’s rime,

And violets know the victory is theirs.

Even so the corn of Egypt, unawares,

Proud Nilus shelters with engulfing slime;

So Etna’s hardening crust a more sublime

Volley of pent-up fires at last prepares.

O face yet fair, if paler, and serene

With sense of duty done without complaint!

O venerable crown!—a living green,

Strength to the weak, and courage to the faint—

Thy bleaching locks, thy wrinkles, have but been

Fresh beads upon the rosary of a saint!