TO A GENTLEWOMAN OBJECTING TO HIM HIS GRAY HAIRS

The Poem

Am I despised because you say,
And I dare swear, that I am gray ?
Know, lady, you have but your day :
And time will come when you shall wear
Such frost and snow upon your hair ;
And when (though long, it comes to pass)
You question with your looking-glass ;
And in that sincere crystal seek,
But find no rose-bud in your cheek :
Nor any bed to give the show
Where such a rare carnation grew.
Ah ! then too late, close in your chamber keeping,
It will be told
That you are old,
By those true tears you’re weeping.