| Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867. | | | | III. To My Wife | | By James Henry Leigh Hunt (1784–1859) |
| | (On Modelling my Bust)
AH, Marian mine, the face you look on now | |
| Is not exactly like my wedding day’s; | |
| Sunk is its cheek, deeper-retired its gaze, | |
| Less white and smooth its temple-flattened brow. | |
| Sorrow has been there with his silent plough, | 5 |
| And strait, stern hand. No matter, if it raise | |
| Aught that affection fancies, it may praise, | |
| Or make me worthier of Apollo’s bough. | |
| Loss, after all,—such loss especially,— | |
| Is transfer, change, but not extinction,—no; | 10 |
| Part in our children’s apple cheeks I see; | |
| And, for the rest, while you look at me so, | |
| Take care you do not smile it back to me, | |
| And miss the copied furrows as you go. | | | | |
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