The Task and Other Poems [59]
mine, My Mary!
Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st, That now at every step thou mov'st Upheld by two, yet still thou lov'st, My Mary!
And still to love, though prest with ill, In wintry age to feel no chill, With me, is to be lovely still, My Mary!
But ah! by constant heed I know, How oft the sadness that I show, Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, My Mary!
And should my future lot be cast With much resemblance of the past, Thy worn-out heart will break at last, My Mary!
End
Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st, That now at every step thou mov'st Upheld by two, yet still thou lov'st, My Mary!
And still to love, though prest with ill, In wintry age to feel no chill, With me, is to be lovely still, My Mary!
But ah! by constant heed I know, How oft the sadness that I show, Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, My Mary!
And should my future lot be cast With much resemblance of the past, Thy worn-out heart will break at last, My Mary!
End